The Veil That Keeps Me Blind
by forthecoast
Summary: With Jane's plans for revenge destroyed, both he and Lisbon are forced to take stock of where they stand - with Red John and with each other. Written for het-bigbang. AU post-3x04, Jane/Lisbon. Complete.
1. Prologue

**Title:** The Veil That Keeps Me Blind  
><strong>Author:<strong> forthecoast (spyglass_)  
><strong>Category:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 36,128  
><strong>RatingWarnings:** PG-13/T  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> 3x04, small reference to canon details of Lisbon's family from 3x07  
><strong>Summary:<strong> With Jane's plans for revenge destroyed, both he and Lisbon are forced to take stock of where they stand - with Red John and with each other.

**Author's Notes:** Here's something completely new from me - a multi-chapter story that is already FINISHED (novel idea, I know!). I wrote this as part of het-bigbang on livejournal, a multi-fandom het pairings big bang challenge where every story was required to be 25,000 words. The Big Bang site actually went live on September 30th, but real life has prevented me from crossposting until now. Because it's already finished, I will be posting a chapter every other day until I've posted the whole thing, which is a total of fifteen chapters divided into four separate books, plus prologue. I'm simultaneously archiving this on my fic journal, link available in my profile. My other stories are due to be updated this week as well - I have not forgotten them. Many thanks to yaba/Yana for betaing.

Set AU post-3x04. I've been planning it out for about a year now, and this big bang was the motivation I needed to actually get it all out. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed planning and writing it :)

.

.

**Prologue**

xxxxx

In the many months that follow, he will reflect on that morning, going over every moment and every memory, first in a furious whirlwind of emotion and then slowing down gradually until he can break down each individual nuance. He remembers the early morning sunlight as it seeped in through the blinds, the inviting warmth of her bed as he reluctantly rose, the slight curve of her spine as she rolled over and furrowed deeper into her pillow, and then later, the soft lilt of her laughter as she teased him over breakfast. He will recall, sometimes with certainty and sometimes without, the look on her face as he walked out the door. He will consider innumerable reasons as to why he did not see any of it coming.

He will think back on this and wonder where it all went wrong.

xxx

Jane wakes first that morning, as he always does. The sun is only just rising, its muted yellow beams casting shadows against the pale carpet when he opens his eyes and sleepily casts a glance at the woman lying beside him. Lisbon is often a restless sleeper, and the night before was no different. Her dark hair falls like a curtain, knotted and tousled around her face, and the sheets gather in tangled at her waist.

He laughs inwardly, affectionately at the sight of her, usually so composed and in control in her waking hours; the odd duality of her sleeping habits striking him, not for the first time in the last four months. One hand lingers against her side as the other straightens the sheets. Lisbon shivers involuntarily as his hand traces the side of her rib cage, but Jane tears himself from the bed before he can allow himself to get carried away. He slept a little later than usual and doesn't dare wake her before he has a chance to start her coffee.

He pads quietly downstairs on that very mission before returning to her bedroom, one last long look at dark hair against pale sheets before disappearing into the en suite bathroom. His things sit alongside hers, mixed in carelessly, as though they've been there for years.

The transition had been surprisingly easy; it happened so slowly that the lines blurred almost before he was even aware. Lisbon had been sly and crafty; first convincing him to come down from his self-enforced seclusion in the CBI attic, then eventually convincing him to abandon the office as well. If left to his own devices, Jane is certain he would still be sleeping on his makeshift bed in the attic; he had to admit that his current arrangements were infinitely more comfortable.

By the time Lisbon made that next step, he had barely put up a fight. She had thrown his own words in his face, reminding him that even if they couldn't have - as he phrased it - a "normal life," they could at least have _something_, and why not have that something be together.

He couldn't argue with her logic. Honestly, he hadn't really wanted to.

Admittedly, he had still been worried. Kristina Frye's fate weighed heavily on his mind, when even several months in a psychiatric hospital had done nothing to alter the damage inflicted by Red John. Lisbon, however, had no qualms, no fear. She reminded him that she was well aware of what could happen, but that it made no difference to her; she could take care of herself. _Let Red John try to come after me,_ she had said. _He won't know what hit him._

In spite of himself, Jane had laughed. Then he had agreed.

If it had been anyone else, he never would have given in, but this was Lisbon.

On the whole, things had not changed all that much. He had not abandoned the attic completely, nor had she abandoned her need for personal space. They both still had their secrets, and neither particularly wanted to reveal them all. He did eventually open up to her about the Blake poem (for which she was not as angry as he expected, she knew he had been hiding something from her about that day), but he still had Max Winter's gun hidden away in the dark recesses of the attic. He certainly did not relish the thought of keeping it from her, but some things were still non-negotiable. It was for her own good, after all.

But even as things did not transform significantly, there were _some_ changes. It was a natural consequence of being together on any level, aside from the obvious. He learned more of her quirks, her routines, and she in turn learned more of his. It became comfortable, familiar, _welcome_.

So much so that when he arrives downstairs that morning after his shower, dressed and ready for the day, he immediately notices that something is amiss.

"Well, this is different," he says teasingly, announcing his presence as he lingers at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb as he takes in the scene.

Lisbon spins around to greet him with raised eyebrows. She's put on yoga pants and a t-shirt, her hair clipped messily back so that it isn't falling in her face, and she's holding a spatula in one hand. She has both coffee and tea already going, and she turns around again as the pancakes she's making need to be flipped. "If you're going to be like that," she warns over her shoulder, "You can make your own breakfast."

"You're not exactly June Cleaver, but you'll do," he says, but when she turns around to glare at him (as if to say, _'June Cleaver, really?'_), he recants. "Kidding, kidding!"

"Oh, bite me," she retorts, but her lips twitch up as she fights back a laugh.

"It may not be in my best interest to point this out," he smirks as he says this, ambling across the kitchen casually until he stands right next to her. He leans in close to her ear and murmurs, "But I'm pretty sure I already have."

Quirking an eyebrow at this, Lisbon simply swats him in the shoulder and turns back to the task at hand. "Why don't you make yourself useful," she suggests as he feigns injury (she really _does_ hit hard), but he stops to kiss her before he obliges.

By the time they sit down to breakfast, he's managed to completely redeem himself for his good-natured teasing by locating the last of the strawberries he bought her earlier in the week. So often their mornings together are rushed, with one or the other looking at the clock to maintain their staggered arrivals at work, that the slightly slower pace is a welcome change. Above all things, he enjoys her company.

All too soon, they finish breakfast, and he finds himself preparing to leave and walk the few blocks to where he parked his car the night before.

"You have that budget meeting this morning," he half-asks, half-states from the edge of the kitchen.

"Yeah, I do, but Hightower pushed it back to 10:30," she answers, as she finishes rinsing the last of the breakfast dishes and wipes her hands on the dishtowel.

With one last look at the clock, he reluctantly turns and heads towards the front door. "I'll see you at office, then."

She nods. "I'll see you at work, Jane."

And with the smile on her face as reassurance, he disappears out her front door.

If he had known what would happen later, he would have turned around one last time to catch a glimpse of her as she climbs the stairs to shower and dress for work.

The problem is, of course, that this is the one thing he could not possibly foresee.

xxxxx


	2. Book I, Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm glad there seems to be interest in where this goes (at least, so I'd assume by the number of story alerts I got in my inbox). As promised, here's Chapter 1, where you get the first look into what's really going on. Or, at least part of it. I've grouped the chapters into larger 'books', each of which coincides with a separate section of the story. Book 1 is probably the shortest overall with only two chapters of fifteen total. Chapter 2 should be up on Friday as scheduled, and I'm going to try to get a few extra chapters up over the weekend if I can.

Special thanks to those of you who took the time to leave a review. They won't make me write any faster as this is already a finished product, but that doesn't mean it's any less appreciated, especially given how much time I put into writing this. So thank you, again :-)

.

.

**Book I**  
><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

xxxxx

Not two hours later, Jane finds himself tied to a chair in an abandoned old farmhouse, a position that is simultaneously strange and familiar; it had been just over a year since the circumstances, his own captivity, had been similar.

When he had arrived at the office, he had gone up to the attic to look over his notes before Lisbon got in. Instead of finding his notes, however, his attention was immediately drawn to an unfamiliar manila envelope lying atop the makeshift bed, addressed to him. Inside, he found four pages, each containing a separate riddle for him to decipher. The first was a message, the second a name, the third directions, and the fourth a warning.

It could only be from one person, and it could only mean one thing: Red John.

Jane had dropped everything immediately. This time, Jane had an advantage Red John didn't know about: Max Winter's gun. Jane was speeding down the highway before he was even aware of what he was doing.

The gun gave Jane the advantage for all of sixty seconds.

Then Red John made an appearance.

Or, that's what Jane surmises. He felt one swift blow to the back of his head, and the next thing he remembers is waking up; bound and immobile, sitting upright in a chair.

"You couldn't stay away, could you?"

The voice is deeper than he remembers, more restrained, in a manner that demands attention. His nemesis stands somewhere close behind him, and though Jane cranes his neck to see, his restraints prevent him from glimpsing anything more than shadows.

"No, Patrick Jane, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. You simply cannot help yourself. You thought that this time would be different, but you never learn."

Jane stills himself, facing forward once again, and simply lets Red John continue to talk. Though panic and fear swell inside of him, he forces them down, numbing himself to whatever is coming. Trapped alone with California's most notorious serial killer and no one aware of where he's gone, he has no hope except for the slight chance that Red John isn't finished with him yet.

And for the second time in thirteen months, his life rests completely in Red John's hands.

"You will always be weak, Patrick. And it seems I am going to have to teach you yet another lesson. This will be the third time. What do you have to say for yourself?"

It unnerves Jane, speaking in Red John's presence for the first time with no idea of his endgame. Jane wills as much confidence as he can muster into his voice and challenges, "This is obviously your plan, so why don't you tell me what I have to say for myself."

"This has nothing to do with my plans," Red John snaps back, anger evident in his voice. "You forced this on me. Kristina, she was supposed to be a warning. But you couldn't stop yourself."

With that, everything falls into place in Jane's mind. Red John _knows_, and while that narrows down the possible outcomes, it makes any outcome that much worse because, no matter what, Lisbon will play an integral part in it.

_Let Red John come after me._ Her words echo in his head; her voice is clear and certain, fearless. _He won't know what hit him._

"Oh, don't look so forlorn, Patrick," Red John sneers, stepping in front of Jane for the first time. His body remains partially hidden in shadows and a mask obscures most of his face; still, Jane feels the involuntary shiver spread throughout his entire body. "I'm not here to finish things off, not today. I simply needed to leave you with a message for Teresa. She's been missing something. I'm sure she's noticed by now, and I think she might want it back."

Before Jane can open his mouth to reply, Red John cuts him off.

"Don't deny it. I know the truth. You were getting too close, even before this past year. I thought Kristina would serve as enough of a warning. Now, she made her own bed, but I won't deny that knowing you would blame yourself didn't make her situation even more _enticing_. I know you felt guilt, but in terms of actual loss, apparently it was not significant enough to deter you when Agent Lisbon made her offer."

Jane's heart beats faster at this, and he wonders briefly if _anything_ that happened between him and Lisbon had been private. As if the mere thought of what might happen hanging over their heads hadn't been enough.

"I know she can be _persuasive_, but you should have known better, Patrick. It's your own inclination to create these personal relationships that makes you so weak."

Jane ignores these words and changes the subject. "You said you had something," he says, forcing bravado he does not feel. "Something you want me to give back to her."

"Yes. I do." Red John creeps closer and leans forward. "But the real question here is simple, you see; did she tell you what it was? Did even she tell you it was missing? She probably noticed it was gone, oh, I'd assume about three weeks ago. At first, she thought she just misplaced it, but it must be starting to worry her by now." With a self-satisfied smirk, he adds, "Just what I thought; she didn't tell you. That bothers you, doesn't it? You _still_ don't know what it is. You can't even guess."

Before Jane has a chance to respond, there is a loud crash behind him as a third party flings the door open and bounds into the room.

"I'd be _very_ careful with what you say next."

When Lisbon's voice first carries into the room, he is absolutely certain that it's a figment of his imagination, some combination of adrenaline and fear that brought her voice to mind. But still, he cannot help himself; he turns his head to look, to see if the loud noise and the voice were real or imagined. He blinks three times in rapid succession and sees Lisbon standing in the doorway, her gun drawn, no hesitation. If not for the true shock that registers on Red John's face, Jane would still believe her image nothing more than a cruel trick of his own mind, an image he conjured up simply to calm himself.

But Lisbon steps closer, her finger steady on the trigger, and one brief moment of Red John's reaction tells Jane that this is no illusion.

"Why, Agent Lisbon. What a pleasant - albeit _unexpected_ - surprise." Red John recovers his composure quickly, while Jane still stares in disbelief at this sudden turn of events.

"You forgot something when you left those messages for Jane," Lisbon says indignantly, narrowing her eyes. "You thought only Jane could decipher them, but you didn't count on me."

"I suppose I hadn't."

"Don't move, or I _will_ shoot." Lisbon approaches the situation with a cool, confident precision that cannot be taught at the academy, and Jane suddenly takes the position of an outsider, as though he is watching the scene unfold in front of him from miles away instead of from the same room.

"I have something of yours, _Teresa_. How touching that you kept something of your father's. Funny that you didn't think to mention it to Patrick, though. Something as important as your father's shield gets misplaced, and when it doesn't turn up, one might assume you would at least let Patrick know it was missing."

"Not one more word," Lisbon scowls, inching slowly closer. "Put your hands where I can see them. You're under arrest."

"Not likely," Red John replies, then reaches inside his jacket.

The next thirty seconds seem to speed up and slow down all at once. Jane holds his breath as a flurry of movement, punctuated by several gunshots, results in Red John on the floor and Lisbon crouching over him, checking his pulse before pronouncing him dead.

She abandons Red John's lifeless body and quickly locates his knife to cut through the thick rope that binds Jane to the chair. Only when she finishes cutting him free does she come to kneel in front of him, tapping his forearm lightly.

"Jane," she urges gently. "Jane, talk to me. Are you alright?"

Her voice reaches through the haziness that had settled temporarily over his brain, and it slowly pulls him back to himself enough that he can see her, bent over so that she is level with him. The first thing his eyes focus on is the blood that stains her blouse, deep red against pale blue. The panic that immediately rises up from the pit of his stomach must register on his face because she shakes her head and explains, "Not my blood. I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about. You've got a bad gash on the back of your head; he must have hit you pretty hard to knock you out."

"I'm okay."

"No, you aren't." Lisbon takes both of his hands and helps him up from the chair. "I don't know if Red John did anything else to this place, but I want to get you out of here. I'll call this in when we get outside."

Without another word, Lisbon supports his body with her own and leads him down the stairwell, the wood creaking under their weight from years of obvious disuse and disrepair. The early June sunlight greets them with a brightness that stings his eyes, and in spite of the mild midmorning temperature, shivers overtake his body. She settles him in the passenger seat of her car, locating a spare sweatshirt in the backseat to use to apply pressure to his head wound, and only then does she pull out her phone.

Jane watches, still mostly unaware of his surroundings and simply following Lisbon's lead, as she dials with her free hand and then waits for the DOJ switchboard to connect her.

"Agent Hightower." She takes a deep breath in and closes her eyes to steady herself, one brief moment to herself before she begins, "Yes, this is Lisbon... About that budget meeting at 10:30, I'm going to be a little late..."

xxx

Jane moves through the rest of the morning in a haze of numbness and disbelief. Lisbon does not leave his side until the paramedics arrive, but after she is certain he is adequately attended to, she disappears back in the direction of her vehicle despite the fact that none of the backup units have arrived on scene yet.

He is only vaguely aware when black government-issued SUVs begin to arrive and the team - along with Hightower, the crime scene unit, and several other backup units that Jane does not recognize - begin to materialize in the vast expanse that used to be farmland.

He cooperates fully with the paramedics, too drained to argue even if he wanted to, although Lisbon sends Van Pelt to ensure that he is not resisting treatment. Van Pelt follows the ambulance to the hospital and sits with him in the ER while the doctor reaffirms that his head injury is nothing serious. She is the one who pays close attention to the doctor's instructions before signing Jane out and taking him back to CBI Headquarters.

Lisbon, Hightower, and the rest of the team have not yet returned, but word about what happened has spread quickly. Lingering glances and hushed whispers follow Jane and Van Pelt as they enter the building and make their way to the Serious Crimes floor. Jane immediately retreats to his corner and reclines against his couch, feeling something akin to relief wash over him at the respite, the familiarity.

Van Pelt has been mostly silent since they signed out of the emergency room, but as she approaches her desk, she looks at him earnestly and asks, "Do you need anything, Jane?"

He makes an exaggerated motion out of shaking his head and refusing her. "That's very thoughtful of you, Grace," he says. "But I'm just going to rest for a little while."

"Not for too long," Van Pelt warns. "Remember what the doctor said. When the others get back, you're going to need to give a statement anyway. Boss said they were almost done at the crime scene, so they may not be far behind us."

At this, he perks up slightly and sits forward. The last time he saw Lisbon, she left him with the paramedics, and that had been hours ago.

"You talked to Lisbon?" he inquires.

"I called when they took you to get your CT scan," Van Pelt answers with a subdued smile. "She was juggling Hightower and the Crime Scene Units. She's okay. She was more worried about you."

Jane nods and swings his legs over the side of the sofa to lie down. He folds his jacket underneath his head and closes his eyes, startled by the barrage of images that threaten him, this time more insistent than ever before. He sees Angela and Charlotte, and he sees Red John, now more than just a dark figure hidden in the shadows. Finally, he sees Lisbon as he did just hours before, dark blood staining her shirt. The full weight of Red John's words have not had a chance to sink in yet, but their implication was explicitly clear. She would have been at risk; she could have been next.

Van Pelt's assurances are only so comforting, but exhaustion finally overwhelms him as he manages to will the unsettling images from his mind.

He sleeps on the sofa in the bullpen while the aftermath unfolds around him. For the first time in years, he does not dream.

xxxxx


	3. Book I, Chapter 2

**A/N:** As promised, here's chapter 2! The final scene of this chapter is the one I built this entire story around. This ends Book I, so after this, things become a little more clear. Enjoy!

.

.

**Book I**  
><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

xxxxx

When he wakes several hours later, the first thing he notices is that Lisbon, Hightower, and the rest of the team have returned, but he doesn't move from his recumbent position. Instead, he listens for several minutes as the female agent from the replacement Serial Crimes team fills Van Pelt in on everything that happened at the farmhouse after she left to accompany him to the hospital. Jane had not noticed any of the Serial Crimes agents arrive on scene, but then, he hadn't really been looking. From what the agent - whose name, Jane remembers after a moment, is Blackburn - says, Serial Crimes wasn't the only additional unit that was called in.

The bullpen is in a state of utter chaos by the morning's unexpected turn of events, and before the end of Van Pelt and Blackburn's conversation, Rigsby and Cho have joined in, along with several other agents and some IT specialists. This will be the CBI's top priority for as long as it takes to track down any and all other remaining links to the serial killer.

The only people noticeably absent from what is now a formidable gathering in the Serious Crimes bullpen are Lisbon and Hightower, but in the course of the conversation, Rigsby mentions that the two women have been in Hightower's office for over an hour as Lisbon gives her official statement as to exactly what happened that morning. Details which seem to remain unclear to everyone else in the room; as far as anyone else knows, Lisbon received a vague message from Jane and went to check it out, not thinking that it would amount to anything. Just as two agents Jane can't identify by voice started to speculate on whether or not Lisbon will be reprimanded for going in without backup, the group falls suspiciously silent. Although Jane remains motionless, still feigning sleep in order to eavesdrop, he knows that Lisbon must have returned to her office.

A few more minutes pass, during which Jane assumes that all non-essential personnel return to their assigned tasks, and then his more finely-tuned senses pick up on the telltale signs of Lisbon's office door opening and closing.

"Oh. Hey boss." Rigbsy's voice carries over as everyone else becomes aware of her sudden reappearance.

Jane listens with rapt attention as Lisbon rejoins the rest of the team in the bullpen.

"How's everything coming?"

"I'm just starting to run his aliases now," Van Pelt replies. "It could take days to go through all of them."

"Well split them up and do the best you can. We're gonna do this right," Lisbon says, as determined and authoritative as ever. "We've got Merriman's team on this, Cavanaugh's too. Hightower is gunning for us to get to as many of his associates as we can before the story spreads and they all go underground."

"Okay, will do boss." Rigsby voices everyone's agreement, then pauses and remarks, "Actually, forensics found a couple of things on Red John's body, and they couldn't figure one of them out. We could ask Jane when he wakes up, but..." Rigsby trails off in obvious discomfort.

"What did they find?"

"A couple of knives and an unregistered gun, which we figured, but he had an old Chicago firefighter's shield on him. We haven't had a chance to run it yet, but why Red John would have something like that?"

"To taunt us," she answers firmly.

"Taunt us? How?" Cho asks.

"Because it was my father's." Her reply is short and succinct, without hesitation. "He must have taken it from my apartment."

"From your...?" Rigsby stutters, eyebrows furrowed as he processes this information. "But how...?"

"I don't know." For the first time, Lisbon's voice holds traces of panic. She inhales deeply as she continues, "He tried to provoke me with it when I got to scene, so you don't have to call CSU, Van Pelt. I've already sent them to my place."

Jane knows that the others will have questions about why Red John chose Lisbon specifically to single out _now_, but he also knows that none of them will ask. They don't even speculate amongst themselves when Lisbon returns to her office to fill out what is certain to be stacks of paperwork and incident reports.

Jane waits another ten minutes before finally stretching and sitting up, alerting the rest of the office that he is now awake. He notices concern register on Van Pelt's face first, then Rigsby's, and last Cho's, as much as Cho's expression ever changes. But he rises from the couch and strides quickly towards Lisbon's office. He knocks on the glass paneling of the door once before opening it and poking his head inside.

"Come in," Lisbon says, her head bent down in concentration as she continues writing her report.

He steps over the threshold and closes the door quietly behind him, and still her focus does not waver. He takes a moment to watch her, brow furrowed and hand scribbling purposefully, before interrupting her work mode.

"Lisbon..."

She finally drops her pen and looks up, her expression subtle and unreadable.

"Hey. You were sleeping when we got back."

"Yeah," he says, shrugging his shoulders. The air between them is tense and thick, and he does not like it. He's never once felt so uncertain in her presence before, never been in the position of _not knowing_ exactly what to say. He finds this unsettling. "I, uh. I just woke up. It was a long morning."

"That it was," she agrees. Her hands fumble clumsily on her desk top as she searches for something in her stack of paperwork. Distractedly, she adds, "Van Pelt said everything went fine at the hospital."

Jane lets out an uneasy laugh. "I'm all patched up."

"Good. I'm glad."

He shuffles closer to her desk, until he is standing right in front of her.

"Lisbon," he starts, his voice strong and clear, forcing her eyes to look up and meet his.

She shakes her head. "Not now, Jane. Not here. Not now. We can't."

"Later, then."

Lisbon sighs, resigned. "Okay. Later."

"Later," he affirms.

And with one last, long look over his shoulder, he exits her office and retreats upstairs to the attic.

xxx

_Later_ gets pushed further and further back as the week unfolds.

The more they uncover about the man who is - _was_ - Red John, the more they have to investigate. Jane finds himself oddly uninterested in working with the rest of the CBI while multiple teams track down the remaining links in Red John's network; nine associates in all, including two moles in the Department of Justice network.

The investigation lasts for five more days, but Jane remains in the attic despite multiple attempts on the parts of Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt to get him involved. The one person who never comes to him - never even calls him, not once - is Lisbon. He sees her from a distance on several occasions, always hard at work or in a meeting with Hightower.

In Jane's entire time at CBI, he could not recall another case that had everyone so involved five days later. That doesn't surprise him though; he could have predicted as much, if he had thought about it. What surprises him is that he does not want anything to do with it. Maybe sometime in the future, he'll want to go through the files, to know everything there is to know about the man who haunted him for years. But for now, the knowledge that Red John is dead is all that he can take in.

He gives in to Van Pelt on the fourth day when she invites him out to dinner with the rest of the team. He arrives late and slides into the booth beside Rigsby. It is completely normal to be out with the team like this, and Jane relishes the feeling until he realizes that there is no extra chair pulled up at the table, which can only mean one thing.

"Lisbon isn't coming?" he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible in his inquiry.

"Still stuck in a meeting," Cho answers quickly without looking up from his menu.

"I left a message on her desk if she wants to join us when she's done," Van Pelt adds hopefully. "I hope she comes. She really needs a break."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Cho comments, finally putting his menu down. "There were two men waiting outside Hightower's office when I went to turn in my report on the guy from Davis. Their badges were FBI. Looked important."

When Rigsby mutters, "Stupid FBI," under his breath, Jane can't help but chuckle silently at the indignation that almost surely has more to do with Van Pelt's recent ex than the unnamed agents waiting to meet with Lisbon and Hightower.

Van Pelt doesn't seem to notice this; she instead reminds them that least one of Red John's accomplices crossed state lines, which would explain the FBI's presence in the investigation. She stops suddenly and looks away, embarrassed, when she mentions Red John.

"No need to fret on my account, Grace," Jane soothes. It's an involuntary response to the concern he sees etched on her face, and the team appears skeptical at his seemingly glib declaration.

But in spite of their concern, there is no need for them to worry. He's not 'okay' and he's far from being able to completely process everything that has happened, but there is still no need for his coworkers (_friends_, he thinks to himself for the first time - just trying the word on for size) to worry about him. They have far more important things to be doing.

He knows they orchestrated this dinner and invited him for the express purpose of getting him out of the attic and assessing just how worried they should be, and he obliged them only to prove that their anxiety was unfounded. That they could stop wasting energy on him and refocus everything on the investigation. But he had hoped Lisbon would be here, too. He finds himself immensely disappointed that she won't be joining them.

Even as he carries on the conversation at dinner, changing the subject while working to allay the team's fears, he finds his mind wandering back to Lisbon.

He wanted to give her space for a few days, especially after she seemed so closed off that first evening in her office. Opaque, instead of translucent, for the first time since they met. He still did not know exactly how he felt about that, or what he'll even say when he sees her.

But now that a few days have passed, he knows he does not want to wait much longer. He cannot.

He decides to wait a day or two more to give himself time to begin to sort through the jumble of emotions that have overwhelmed him for the last 72 hours. Starting as soon as this dinner is over, he will return to the attic to think; this time with purpose, instead of allowing chaos and disorder to overwhelm his thoughts.

This resolution calms him, and he relaxes somewhat for the remainder of dinner. Although the Red John investigation does not come up again - a conscious decision on the part of the three agents after Van Pelt's initial slip - Jane listens carefully every time Lisbon's name comes up in conversation.

When dinner is over, he wishes everyone goodnight in the parking lot and climbs back into his car. He turns the key in the ignition, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like he's moving toward something, instead of that something moving toward him.

xxx

As it turns out, the clarity and insight Jane had been hoping for does not come as easily as he anticipated, but he abandons his attic refuge in favor of going off in search of Lisbon. He had promised that he would not wait more than two days, but the truth is, he couldn't wait any longer if he wanted to.

When he pulls up in front of Lisbon's townhouse, dusk is settling over the quiet suburban street, and Jane finds the sight so achingly familiar to him that he sits in his car for a few minutes even after he parks. It is the first time in months he's been able to park safely in front of her place, instead of hiding his car several blocks away. There's no one watching them anymore.

The cool evening air calms him as he makes his way up her front steps, only a moment's indecision before deciding to forgo his spare key in favor of ringing the doorbell.

The door swings open quickly, but the woman who appears in front of him is not Lisbon. She appears young, maybe college aged, with short red hair, and she furrows her brow in irritation when she sees Jane at the door.

He stares blankly ahead, feeling suddenly very, very cold.

"If you're selling something, we're not interested."

"I'm not," he manages to squeak out, still completely stunned. "I'm just... I'm looking for... Is Lisbon here?"

"Lisbon?" she asks. "Oh, are you looking for the woman who lived here?"

Jane catches the use of past tense, and he shivers involuntarily. That's when he remembers that he hasn't actually seen Lisbon since the evening of his dinner two nights before; she had still been in Hightower's office when he got back to CBI Headquarters, but as far as he knew, she had not actually been in the office in the last two days. It is hard for him to imagine that a mere six days before, he had happily laughed with her over breakfast before leaving for work; that feels like another life, another time. Once again, he is struck with the odd sensation of _not knowing_. He finds it more terrifying now than ever before.

He inhales to steady himself, and he asks, "By chance, you wouldn't happen to know where Lisbon is?"

"I'm sorry. I have no idea." The girl shakes her head. "My roommate and I are just subletting for the summer during our internships. We were supposed to live somewhere else, but that fell through and the Department of Justice put us here. We just moved in this morning."

Jane considers the girl's information carefully. If she and her roommate are subletting for the summer, then this is probably temporary. _Probably_. Of course, the problem is that even if this is temporary, Lisbon is still gone, and she didn't tell him. And there's nothing more he can learn from standing on her front doorstep like a fool.

"Okay, well, thank you."

"You should call her. Your girlfriend, or whoever she is. You never know."

"That's good advice. Thanks," he says, and with a quick wave of his hand, he turns around and heads down the front walkway.

When he reaches his car, he hears her yell "Good luck" before she disappears behind the closed door.

He sits down in the driver's seat, his fingers hesitating over the familiar digits before finally completing the number. It doesn't ring; it's out of service. The phone feels foreign in his hand, as though it is at fault. And with a heavy heart, he turns the key in the ignition and pulls out into the street, heading back to the CBI. There, at least, he can hope to find some answers.

But as he guides his car through the now-darkened city streets, he realizes the important question is not whether or not he can find her. It is whether or not she wants him to look.

xxxxx


	4. Book II, Chapter 3

**A/N:** We now move a few months to the future to get some answers. When I originally planned this story out, it was going to be about 10,000 words total. Then I wrote the prologue material out (which at that point was going to be everything I've posted thus far, through Chapter 2) and realized there was no way that was going to happen. This story basically had a mind of its own.

Posting this chapter ahead of schedule because it's the weekend, and my work week could get a little bit crazy. Special thanks to those of you who took the time to review :-)

.

.

**Book II**  
><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

xxxxx

_six months later_

xxxxx

Jane tries not to look at her empty office. If he doesn't look, it's easier to forget just how long it's been empty. If he looks, it becomes glaringly obvious.

It will be six months soon. Six months since the day he arrived at Lisbon's front door only to find that she had disappeared, leaving her apartment to two summer interns from the DOJ. He had seen them several times over the course of the summer when they had come to CBI Headquarters on various errands. Lisa, the redhead whom Jane had met when she appeared at Lisbon's door, introduced her dark-haired, dark-skinned roommate as Renee. They were pleasant, easy to talk to, and they had the good sense not to press him for details as to whether or not he had called Lisbon. But summer had long since come and gone, and Lisbon's apartment remained unoccupied since the two girls returned to their respective colleges at the end of August.

In truth, he had waited almost five weeks to call Lisbon again, secretly hoping that she might contact him first, but to no avail. He finally tried her cell phone twice, giving up when it went to a forwarding service. With all the tools and resources of the CBI at his disposal, Jane knew he could locate her if he tried; however, her unspoken message was perfectly clear. If Lisbon had wanted him to know where she was, she would have let him know by now. That knowledge left Jane to his own devices, with nothing but his own thoughts and theories to fuel him through the long, hot summer and into the fall.

All Hightower had told the team was that Agent Lisbon had been temporarily reassigned and that their unit would have its caseload reduced for as long as they were without their team leader. With Hightower's assistance, Agent Cho would temporarily assume the lead role as the team's most senior remaining agent. The arrangement had worked out well, mostly because Hightower took on virtually all interaction with local law enforcement and had carefully screened every case that they were sent prior to assignment, diverting some and accepting others based on her assessment of how the team was managing at any given time. Or, more specifically, how the team was managing without _Lisbon_. It was clear, although no one would acknowledge it outright, that her absence left a gaping hole in the team that nothing or no one else could fill.

Jane himself had inquired after Lisbon only once, about a week after he arrived at her place to find that she had vanished. Hightower informed him that she was not in direct contact with Agent Lisbon but would be receiving reports from time to time and could get a message to her if Jane so desired. Jane hid his dejection well and declined Hightower's offer. A message through however many channels it took would not serve as a substitute when whatever remained of their relationship (if anything remained at all) was at stake.

On good days, Jane doesn't think about her much. He goes about his daily life not dwelling on the fact that he doesn't know where she is or if she is safe, or that she left with everything between them still uncertain, hanging in the balance. Lisbon always said that she wanted him to move on from vengeance and Red John, to take the best parts of his old life and create something new for himself, something that would make him happy. Jane started taking her advice even before Red John's death; he had been unaware of how much the time he spent with her had become an integral part of his life. But now he is taking her advice in earnest, and it almost does not seem real simply because she is not there to witness it, to share it with him.

It boils down to one simple fact: he misses her more with every passing day.

It isn't even that he is the only one who does. Van Pelt and Rigsby often lament her absence, the former in particular. Even stoic, solemn Cho will frequently defer to her authority for a few moments before realizing that role is his for the time being. But Jane always holds his tongue and keeps of his own feelings carefully under lock and key, lest his reveal something altogether too private and personal. Six months later, and still the sting remains fresh and new.

Today is not a good day, and it hasn't been one from the moment Jane awoke early that morning. He has suffered through fewer nightmares and a significant decrease in sleepless nights since Red John's death, but the previous night, he had been restless, waking several times from the throes of a terrible nightmare. This particular variation on a dream is a new one, painfully reminiscent of that day in June when Red John met his end. The details change every time, but the result is always the same: Lisbon, lifeless and covered in blood, while he is bound and helpless but still alive, having lost the one thing he had left to lose.

And then he wakes up and he realizes that he lost her anyway.

On this particular morning, the team is in between cases, so even work does not serve as a suitable distraction. The entire team is gathered in the bullpen; even Cho, who had been offered use of Lisbon's office until she returned. Cho had refused. He occasionally went into Lisbon's office to retrieve forms or to make a phone call, but the office remained otherwise unoccupied during its rightful owner's time away.

Jane spends his time lying supine on his beloved sofa and casually listening in as Rigsby and Van Pelt discuss everything from upcoming holiday blockbusters to their picks for the NFL playoffs all while trying not to let their true feelings for each other show. Jane couldn't see from his current position, but he had no doubt that Cho was rolling his eyes as he filled out forms from the team's last case.

This is exactly how Agent Hightower finds them nearly three hours later.

"We're going to San Francisco." Hightower's announcement cuts quickly through the suddenly silent room. There is a hint of urgency in her usual matter-of-fact tone, and that gets their attention more than anything. "I just got a call from the FBI Field Office. I'll tell you what I know on the way."

Hightower turns and takes two steps before turning back around, concern creased into her brow.

"I want to leave as soon as possible." She casts a telling glance toward the empty office behind her. Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "It's about Lisbon."

They are on the road in less than five minutes.

xxx

It is probably for the best that Rigsby drives.

Jane's first instinct had been to take the keys himself or follow in his own car, but as soon as they pull out into traffic, Jane realizes there is no way he could be driving. Not at that moment. (There's a voice in the back of his head, Lisbon's voice, telling him that Rigsby is the fastest driver anyway. He and Lisbon have had that argument more times than he can count.) Instead, Jane sits in the back seat of the van, listening intently as Hightower tells them what little she knows.

It takes all of the biofeedback control mechanisms in his arsenal to appear calm and in control. He envies Rigbsy, who can hide behind the distraction of the road ahead; Cho, whose facial expressions rarely change; and Van Pelt, who wears her emotions on her sleeves anyway. Jane has not felt this distracted and anxious since the day Red John died.

"Lisbon has been working with the Violent Crimes Department at the FBI."

Hightower is sitting in the front passenger seat, but she turns around to face them as she explains, "Their SAC had been looking at a few senior agents, and Lisbon was one of them. He came to me right around the time that everything broke with Red John. It was her choice, but she wanted to go."

This, at the very least, is not a surprise to Jane. He had assumed as much; as Lisbon is not one to take a vacation, much less an extended one, a temporary offer from another unit made the most sense. He listens intently as Hightower continues.

"There's been a case that the FBI has been trying to keep out of the media. In the last 24 months, five women have disappeared from a battered women's shelter just outside of San Francisco. Within a week from the time of their disappearance, they've all turned up dead."

Van Pelt, who is too shaken to process this information as quickly as she usually would, interrupts. "What does that have to do with Lisbon?"

"The FBI doesn't want it getting out that the shelter could be dangerous. But they don't want women staying with abusive husbands out of fear of the shelter, either." As he speaks, Jane hides his hands in his lap, protected in the back seat of the van, but does not put on his usual cheerful yet detached airs as he might if this were about anyone else. "I would guess that they asked at least four or five other female senior field agents to be on their task force."

Hightower nods. "That's what I've been told. They asked six including Lisbon, but only four accepted. The lead agent, Mark Redmond, called me this morning because for the past five months, they've been conducting an undercover operation at the shelter. Another female agent has been posing as a volunteer, and a few weeks later, Lisbon went in herself as a victim of abuse."

Before Hightower gets a chance to say any more, Rigsby voices what everyone else is thinking (the same question that has haunted Jane every night for the better part of six months).

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know," Hightower releases a shaky sigh and rotates her neck to look at Rigsby although his focus remains straight ahead. "No one knows. Lisbon didn't check in with her contact last night, and she missed her back up contact this morning. The agent who's been working as a volunteer can't officially confirm that she's missing, but no one can remember seeing her since before dinner last night."

Hightower's voice remains even and professional, but her words are ominous.

"Redmond wanted to know if any of us knew somewhere Lisbon might have gone if she needed help, maybe someone she used to work with at the SFPD."

_Not anymore_, Jane forces his hands to remain still as the realization washes over him, unbidden. _With Bosco gone, she's the only one left._

Lisbon never spoke of her old team, she kept those secrets well-guarded, even from him, but Jane's own innate curiosity got the better of him. When he had first realized that Bosco had been her supervisor, a quick internet search revealed that of the two remaining members of Bosco's SFDP unit, one was shot and killed in the line of duty not long before Lisbon transferred to the CBI, and the other had died suddenly of a heart attack at age 43.

At the time, he noted the unit's strange disposition for dropping dead prematurely, and that had been before Bosco.

Just then, Hightower's voice breaks Jane's train of thought.

"I did a quick check in the system. Since nothing turned up and Virgil has been in Seattle for the past month with his sister, I thought we would be best served heading to San Francisco ourselves."

The other agents all murmur their approval at this.

"Do you know anything else?" Van Pelt frowns and twists a strand of hair around her right index finger, a nervous habit of her adolescence that she rarely displays anymore.

"I don't. I told Redmond to call me directly if he had any updates, but I doubt we'll know anything more until we get there and someone briefs us on the details of the case."

With that, Hightower turns around in her seat and faces forward once again, and the car settles into complete silence for the remainder of their trip, each one of them lost in their own thoughts and apprehensions.

Outside, the sky is dull and gray; the mood in the van is not much different.

For his own part, Jane passes the trip in varying parts numbness and disbelief. As Rigsby speeds through light traffic, Jane does not take in the scenery or observe the passengers in the other cars, as is often his custom. On particularly long drives when it was just him and Lisbon, he would frequently entertain her with stories of where each car was going and what they'll be doing when they get there. Lisbon would laugh and roll her eyes, and yet, she would always listen. In the past six months, his instincts have still been to share those stories with her, and he would often start to speak before he would remember that she was not there.

With thoughts of the past running through his mind, Jane barely registers when they arrive at the San Francisco field office, but he comes back to himself when he enters the building. The task force is located on the third floor, in a large open area surrounded by big windows and glass-encased offices. Several agents are on the phone, several others are bent over files or peering up at white boards with months and months of investigative work arranged in time lines and bullet points.

Hightower crosses the room to speak with a tall, lanky man with dark hair, presumably Mark Redmond as he appears to be the agent in charge. Cho, Rigbsy, and Van Pelt linger on the outskirts, a little out of place as they are the junior law enforcement officers for a change. Jane, however, immediately centers his focus on the empty desks in the far left corner of the room. One empty desk in particular, the one that the other agents won't look at directly, averting their eyes on instinct.

Lisbon's desk.

Jane approaches it tentatively, examining her workspace with careful eyes but never allowing himself to get comfortable. He runs his hand over the back of her desk chair, but chooses to remain standing. Rummaging through the drawers does not turn up much, which makes sense given the limited amount of time Lisbon would have spent in the office before going on assignment. However, the top right drawer does reveal three well-hidden photographs, buried under a stack of unused notebooks.

The first two are familiar: the photo of her brothers, the same one that sits on display in her apartment; a photo of the team from the CBI 4th of July picnic. It's the third picture that catches Jane's eye. It's an older photo of a man and a woman, just slightly faded and frayed around the edges. Jane can't make out their faces because they aren't looking at the camera; they're looking at each other. It doesn't take a has-been fake psychic to know that these are Lisbon's parents, back when they were young and in love.

In all the hours Jane has spent in Lisbon's apartment, he has never seen a single picture of either of her parents. The thought saddens him, but there will be time to dwell on that later. For now, he pushes the twinge of regret aside and focuses his attention on the sudden bustle of activity at the center of the room.

Everyone turns at attention when a stout, balding man clears his throat. Although short in stature, he has a commanding presence, political and authoritative in nature, and every agent in the room regards him with equal parts admiration and disdain. It does not come as a surprise to Jane when the man begins speaking by addressing the visiting CBI contingent directly, introducing himself as Peter Stratton, Director of the San Francisco Field Office.

"One of our own is missing today," he continues, stiffening his posture in an attempt to stretch upwards and make himself appear taller. He is obviously warming up for a press conference that Jane can only hope Lisbon will be around to hate. Stratton is a little old to be making the jump to career politics, but he certainly wouldn't be the first.

"But I have every confidence in the men and women who stand before me..."

After that, Jane's interest in whatever the man has to say is minimal at best, and he tunes out, although he at least keeps up appearances and feigns interest. Irritating a man like Stratton will only backfire, likely wasting everyone's time and limiting his own access to information.

The usual rules, in this case, stopped applying a long time ago.

xxxxx


	5. Book II, Chapter 4

**A/N:** I've managed to edit a few chapters ahead this weekend, so I think I'll be able to update once a day for the next few days unless something weird happens in terms of my work schedule (be advised: it could happen). The end scene from this chapter was one of my favorites to write. Enjoy :-)

.

.

**Book II**  
><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

xxxxx

Stratton departs almost immediately after the conclusion of his would-be motivational speech, and that's when the real work begins. Redmond, who is easily ten years younger than Stratton, commands respect with actual esteem rather than pomp and circumstance. He leads, and his team naturally follows.

_Lisbon must have liked that_. The thought pops into his head unbidden, but no less accurate. There are few things about the job Lisbon dislikes, but her distaste for political figures is well-known, at least among the team. In many ways (Jane's own influence notwithstanding), Redmond's style of leadership seems to mirror her own.

Redmond assigns one agent to bring the CBI team up to speed on the case, but Jane opts out of that briefing, choosing instead to gather background information on his own from the carefully constructed white board notes. It doesn't take him long to locate all of the case details he needs, and when he's finished, he introduces himself to a tall, blonde agent, one of the few female agents on the task force.

"Oh, you're Jane." She smiles and offers a firm but friendly handshake. "I'm Julia Savino. I'm CBI, too. I actually work Crimes Against Children here in San Francisco."

Her comment is offhanded enough to indicate that although Lisbon may have mentioned him, it was only in passing. Still, the fact that she mentioned him at all is a small comfort.

"How long have you been on the task force?" he asks.

"I came on the same time that Teresa did," she says over her shoulder, walking over towards one of the white boards. Jane follows, noting her use of Lisbon's given name.

"Two women disappeared within three weeks of each other last May." She pauses to gesture at the timeline, indicating two crime scene photographs on the white board timeline. "Both bodies turned up the week before the FBI recruited us. They wanted to make sure it didn't become a big story. They weren't counting on Red John taking over the news cycle, of course, but I guess you already know that..."

Jane simply nods, her words once again confirming that while she is apparently on a first-name basis with Lisbon, she is none the wiser about his own identity outside of his position as a consultant for Lisbon's team. Given the circumstances, that ought to work in his favor.

"So what's the plan?" He motions to the pages of notes she holds in her left hand.

"These are copies of the notes her handler took every time they made contact," Julia explains, taking a few steps to the nearest desk (presumably hers) and sitting down, spreading the notes out in front of her in orderly stacks. "It's everything he's seen and everyone she's come in contact with. If she has a suspect, he or she could be in here somewhere. For all we know she could be fine, just biding her time and laying low while she waits out the suspect."

"Is that what you think happened?" he asks, although he isn't sure he wants to hear the answer.

Julia looks away. "It's one option we're pursuing. We want to stay optimistic. Lisbon is... she's a good agent. The best. You know that."

"I do."

She meets his eyes briefly, her expression sincere and serious, but not solemn. "Then you know why I have to believe that she's okay."

Julia Savino has no idea, really, but Jane smiles and agrees with her just the same. He appreciates the confidence that Savino has in Lisbon; it's not a naive, empty confidence, but one grounded in respect and sound reasoning. Savino, like the rest of the assembled team, does not panic.

"Your team knows Lisbon better than anyone else here," Julia says matter-of-factly, her eyes once again focused on the stacks of notes on her desk. "Do you want to give me a hand with these? A fresh set of eyes may be just what we need."

Jane accepts her offer gladly, grateful both for the opportunity to contribute and for the distraction. He isn't accustomed to being at a loss when it comes to cases, to being unable to see the clear-cut solution at the outset. But in this instance, there are too many unknown quantities and months of investigative work to wade through. The pool of potential suspects alone is vast and deep, thus limiting Jane's greatest asset, leaving him with only the ability to read between the lines of second-hand notes on Lisbon's first-hand observations.

"Mike Casper, is that her handler?" he says finally, taking one look at the documents and zeroing in on the name of Lisbon's handler.

Savino nods. "He is."

"I want to speak with him."

"Alright," she agrees. "I'll go get him. Wait just a minute..." her voice trails off as she rises quickly to her feet, her chair scraping quietly against the floor as she does so.

She moves swiftly across the room and stops when she reaches a small group of male agents all in deep discussion. One agent separates himself from the group, speaking briefly with Agent Savino and then motioning for Jane to join him at Lisbon's abandoned desk. Jane complies promptly, although he is reluctant to occupy Lisbon's personal space in her absence. It feels like an intrusion.

Agent Casper does not allow Jane any time to dwell on those thoughts.

"Patrick Jane? I'm Mike Casper. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

Jane, who dislikes the agent on principle as he is the one person who has been in consistent contact with Lisbon, isn't particularly keen on their meeting under any circumstances and simply nods and takes his proffered hand.

Mike Casper is tall, although not exceedingly so, with dark hair and a solid build; he appears to be in his mid to late 40s. His demeanor is pleasant and professional, yet Jane cannot help but hold him in contempt. This is an unfamiliar contempt, one he hasn't felt in a long time. It feels a lot like jealousy.

Jane dismisses the notion almost as soon as it enters his mind. The implications of any so-called jealousy, whether personal or professional, are too great at present.

Agent Casper sits down in Lisbon's vacant chair, and Jane follows suit, pulling a stray chair to the front of the desk and taking a seat.

"You wanted to ask me some questions about what I know from being Lisbon's handler, correct?" Casper asks bluntly.

"To get a more complete picture of the undercover operation," Jane replies. "I'm sure the task force has been pursuing several other lines of investigation, but since Lisbon missed both of her contacts yesterday and this morning, one would gather that there's a problem on the inside." He pauses for a moment then adds quietly, more for his own benefit than for Casper's, "I know Lisbon. I know how she works, I know how she thinks. I can help."

"For Lisbon's sake," Casper says soberly, "I hope you can."

Jane ignores the voice in the back of his head that tells him he would have been a lot more help if he had seen any of this coming.

xxx

The late afternoon hours drag on slowly, lead after potential lead not panning out, and the dull, gray skies turn dark early.

Jane doesn't want to think about what the darkness means, but its simple presence seems to cast a spell over the nearly thirty agents brought on to help the search, only just over half of whom are actually members of Redmond's task force.

Over the course of the afternoon, the CBI team was assimilated into the task force. Cho and Van Pelt had been investigating leads with Agent Savino and two other male agents, Rigsby had been pulled to another floor with a group of agents whose names Jane hadn't been able to catch, and Hightower had worked right alongside Agent Redmond. Jane stuck with Agent Casper, preferring to stick as close to the source as possible.

Casper, Jane grudgingly admits, is a good agent. Solid, dependable, but not unwilling to think outside the box or bend the rules if necessary. His initial, irrational dislike notwithstanding, Jane thinks he could work with Casper on a semi-regular basis.

Dependent, of course, on Lisbon's safe return.

Jane had thought he would be angry - and maybe he will be - but he doesn't have enough strength or energy for anger right now. Fear is his overwhelming emotion for as long as he knows she could be in danger. Fear, along with frustration and a sense of futility.

The problem with the investigation is that it leaves Jane reliant on files and notes and _paper_, when his strength is reading people and interacting with any potential suspects first hand.

Worse even than the fear is the thought that he could have been more helpful if only he had known sooner. He could have helped come up with the undercover assignment or planned for contingencies with her. She was the one who was always telling him that they were a team and they had to work together. Now he understands what she means.

Just when they seem to have reached their last dead end, Agent Casper's cell phone rings, shrill and sudden against the low chaotic buzzing of the bullpen area. A look passes between Jane and Casper, less than a second of unspoken acknowledgement and apprehension before Casper brings the phone to his ear to answer the call.

"Casper." The brief pause where Jane can only hear the low sound of a female voice, but cannot recognize the caller seems to span minutes instead of mere seconds until Casper exclaims, "Oh, thank God! Are you okay?"

Jane exhales and listens more closely, tuning in just in time to hear a voice that though still muffled, is distinctly Lisbon's explain, "... but nothing happened. I think at least one of Summers or Stroup will flip if we can get the DA to offer them a deal."

"And you're okay?" Casper asks again.

"I'm fine, I told you. You hit harder."

Jane catalogues the slight frown that crosses Casper's expression for future reference.

"Where are you?" Casper recovers quickly. "We're going to send someone for you right now."

"We're at the Silver Star Diner right off of Exit 12. Someone needs to go to the shelter to pick up Debbie Summers. I have more than enough on these two for a warrant, and I don't think she's been tipped off yet."

"I'll take care of it. You just stay where you are. Call me if anything changes."

"I will," she replies, and then the line goes dead.

Casper immediately springs into action, alerting agents and going to Redmond for approval of his plans. Within minutes, two teams of agents have been dispatched: one team is headed straight to Lisbon, and the other back to the shelter to pick up the woman Lisbon named as the second suspect.

In contrast, Jane lets the action unfold around him, understanding that this isn't his team or his show, and that the last thing that anyone (_Lisbon_) needs now is to face a distraction. He heard her voice and heard her say she was alright - although with Lisbon, he knows she could be seriously injured and still claim to be fine - and for now, that will have to be enough.

He has waited nearly six months, he can wait a few more hours.

xxx

Although he is willing to wait, Patrick Jane is not now and never has been a patient man, so the hours pass slowly. It is late at night now, and the crescent moon has completely disappeared, leaving the sky clear, dark, and empty. Everyone else has been shuffling in and out, bustling and energetic as they head out to grab a bite to eat or rattle off one last page of their report now that the finish line is in sight.

Agent Savino went with Agent Casper on the team that was going to pick Lisbon up and ensure she got medical attention if necessary. Hightower borrowed a car to get home to her kids, and Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt all went out to get some dinner and get out of the building for an hour; however, they left strict instructions to call them the minute that Lisbon returned if they were not back already. With those agents gone, at least temporarily, Jane is able to remain essentially invisible to all others. He simply remains seated at Lisbon's abandoned desk, since there is no couch in this bullpen area, where no one else will give him a second thought.

He catches bits and pieces of other people's conversations as they pass.

_"She had no choice, she had to go then or she would have lost her..."_ one says.

_"Do you think either one of them will really flip? I mean, what kind of deal is the DA going to offer them anyway?"_ another wonders idly.

_"Casper says she's okay. She refused medical treatment and they'll be back in an hour. Santiago and Clark should be back with Debbie Summers before they get here..."_ says a third.

Each conversation helps Jane fill in the gaps a little bit more, but he knows his understanding will remain incomplete for some time.

As 10:00 approaches, agents begin to return, Cho, Rigbsy, and Van Pelt among them, as well as the agents who were charged with arresting Debbie Summers (who is currently sitting in Interview 4 and requesting a lawyer). Some of the agents - mostly those called in as reinforcements who were not part of the original task force - begin to file out one by one, but the majority remain. Jane is not particularly bothered by this. Although his is not what he had in mind when he pictured seeing Lisbon again for the first time in months, there is anonymity in a crowd that might be for the best.

Especially given that right now everything is uncertain.

Finally, at 10:13, someone announces that Savino called and she and Casper are less than ten minutes out. Lisbon is with them.

Jane allows himself a moment of relief before fear sets in. The details of what she's been through remain unknown, the extent of trauma and stress endured not quantified, and the possibility that she is putting on an act to avoid attracting attention to herself is very real.

His posture slackens just slightly; he tries not to watch each individual second tick by. He doesn't have long to wait now, but the last ten minutes are the longest.

Then suddenly, the room falls silent and all dull chatter fades away at the low, indistinct rumble of voices coming from the hall. There is commotion, an indignant yell from the man who must be their suspect. Agents Casper and Savino come into view leading a man in handcuffs who is demanding a lawyer, much like his counterpart Debbie Summers; when they disappear towards the interrogation rooms, everything falls silent once more.

A muted chime announces the arrival of another elevator, and that's when Jane knows that the wait is over.

Lisbon is here.

xxx

He recognizes the sound of her footsteps, even from a distance. She has a distinctive tread, one that he's had years to grow attuned to, and no amount of time apart will ever alter that learned recognition. It's as much a part of him as his own habits, filed away in the Teresa Lisbon Wing of his memory palace.

(Although let it be known, the Teresa Lisbon Wing is really a palace unto itself, one which incidentally resembles a Chicago mansion he remembers from his days traveling with his father. But this memory is not from his actual carnie circuit days. For some reason, his mind makes that unconscious distinction.)

He hears her footsteps the moment she steps off the elevator, and his heart seizes, clenching and unclenching, as adrenaline takes over. He cannot believe that she is truly unharmed until he sees her with his own eyes.

Sixth months, he reminds himself. Six months, and she's been through an incredible ordeal. Let her come on her own terms.

And so he waits, fighting against his own instincts to go to her, as she walks down the hall. That familiar pattern and rhythm of her footsteps is slowed, but otherwise unchanged. She's exhausted and trying not to show it, nothing more. She's speaking to someone, one of the field agents who went to meet her. Although Jane strains to hear her, he cannot make out what she's saying.

Not over the sound of her footsteps.

Then she appears, triumphant yet hesitant as she rounds the corner. Her hair is shorter - not noticeably, still cut below her shoulders - but she is otherwise the same Lisbon who vanished six months ago.

He had thought (on the occasions when he allowed himself to think about it) that he might feel some anger, but if he does, it is completely eclipsed by an all-encompassing relief. He's waited a long time for this, far longer than the past six months (although that realization has only come recently); he doesn't have time for anger.

She doesn't see him, however, and instead approaches everyone gathered around Casper and Redmond's desks. Her new team. A female agent Jane did not notice earlier steps forward and wraps her arms around Lisbon, who surprisingly does not shy away from the embrace. This woman is the first, but several others follow with a handshake or a supportive jab on the shoulder.

Jane hangs back, as do Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt; he walks over to his own teammates and stands with them. This is not their place.

"Your CBI team is here," someone finally remarks after a few painful, seemingly interminable minutes. "They came this morning. They wanted to help."

"Really?" Lisbon's back is still to them, but affection escapes in her voice. "They did? Where are they?"

But she turns around before anyone can answer. Instantly, her eyes narrow imperceptibly and her grin levels.

"Jane?"

When she murmurs his name, the implied question in her voice tells him all he needs to know.

That she is more surprised to see him than he is to see her.

xxxxx


	6. Book II, Chapter 5

**A/N:** Okay, not much to say about this chapter. It was another favorite of mine to write. Probably won't be able to put a new chapter up tomorrow because I should be updating Turning Tables, but Chapter 6 should be up on Wednesday! For those of you wondering what's been going through Lisbon's mind all this time, I can promise that she will have her say.

.

.

**Book II**  
><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

xxxxx

Everything stands still for about fifteen seconds.

She holds eye contact with him for the first five, then blinks and shifts her gaze to a point behind him, still keeping up appearances for everyone else. But not the two of them. A crease forms at the edge of her eyes, and he can't tell if it's from anger or hurt or both, _or something else entirely_.

He wants to go to her and tell her that he's the one who has the right to feel all those things, but of course he cannot - not here, not now. Instead, he holds his position and keeps his head held high; if he cannot move forward, at the very least he will not regress back.

No one else in the room seems to say or do anything, not that Jane or Lisbon is aware of at least; they are too caught up in the spell that has fallen over them.

"Agent Lisbon. So good to have you back with us."

Director Stratton's voice mercifully cuts through and interrupts the longest fifteen seconds of silence Jane can remember.

Lisbon gives a slight nod in the direction of her CBI team, not quite looking any of them in the eye, and turns to Stratton, shaking his outstretched hand. She appears to be somewhat overwhelmed and uncomfortable by the amount of attention she is receiving - although even Jane himself would never be able to tell if he did not know her.

Stratton appears practically gleeful, in that slightly contained, political manner. The timing, Jane realizes suddenly, is perfect for the 11:00 news. Stratton is gearing up for another speech about the dedication and professionalism of this agency, which has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the agents he had no hand in selecting, on a task force he was not actively part of, not that that will matter when he gets in front of the cameras.

Jane feels sick on Lisbon's behalf. He can only hope that Stratton will spare her from having to be in front of the cameras herself.

After a solid ten minutes' worth of politicking, Stratton retreats to make himself press-ready. Then, and only then, does anyone mention the actual case at hand.

"What are we doing with Stroup and Summers?" a nameless agent asks. The question is directed at Agent Redmond, but he looks straight at Lisbon, deferring to her judgment and wisely so, given that Lisbon is the agent with direct knowledge of the suspects.

"We have enough to charge them now, but let's hold them overnight before we question them or charge them," she says decisively. "Has anyone talked to the DA's office?"

"I spoke to them myself," Redmond answers. "They're not thrilled, but they're willing to make a deal."

Lisbon nods at this. "Okay, good. Mehler's been way too careful. We'll never be able to pin this on him if one of them doesn't give him up."

Jane frowns at this. Clifford Mehler's name was mentioned on more than one occasion in the case material; he is an up and coming real estate developer who would have the very best lawyers and advisors at his disposal. If Clifford Mehler is the man behind all of these disappearances, they're probably going to need even more than two accomplices making a deal in order to put him away for his crimes.

"Alright then," Redmond waves his hand, an emphatic gesture to accompany his proclamation. When he speaks, everyone listens. "I don't want any of you coming in earlier than 10:00 am tomorrow. I mean that. And you," he turns to Lisbon. "We _will_ need a statement from you, but other than that, I don't want to see you around here for at least 48 hours. You have more than earned it."

Lisbon looks primed to argue, but then apparently thinks better of it. As the other agents begin to gather their things and disperse, she walks over to her desk. Jane watches as she absent-mindedly flips through the case materials that have been left there before finally squatting down to open the bottom drawer. She seems to search for something for several minutes before she successfully pulls a key chain from the back of the drawer.

When she stands up, she realizes that her own CBI team is still waiting for her, unofficially present in the first place and thus not officially dismissed. (Or, at least, that's their excuse for hanging around as everyone else filed out. They came all this way to see her and make sure she is alright, and that is exactly what they intend to do.)

"Thank you for coming, you guys. You didn't have to."

Her words come softly, almost uncertain by her standards. She shifts her weight somewhat awkwardly. Jane wonders if she is, in fact, less 'fine' than she claims to be.

"We did, boss." Van Pelt speaks up first. She looks as though she can't decide whether to run up and hug Lisbon, or stare at her in awe and admiration. "We were worried about you. We've all been worried about you."

The fact that Van Pelt does not mean only _today_ does not go unheard, even as it goes unsaid.

"How is everything back at the CBI?" Lisbon asks, directing the conversation back to 'safe' territory.

"The same." Cho answers this time, as only he can.

"Yeah, you know. People get killed, we catch the bad guys," Rigsby adds, then awkwardly stammers, "Well, obviously you know. I mean..."

Lisbon laughs gently. "I know, Rigsby. Did you guys just play hooky today? How did you even know what was going on?"

"Redmond called Hightower, and she told us. We all came together, but she had to go home to her kids," Van Pelt replies.

"There was no way they were keeping us away," Rigsby adds, puffing out his chest almost imperceptibly.

Lisbon takes a sideways glance at the clock on the wall; she has carefully avoided eye contact with Jane since that first moment. "It's getting late. Do you guys need to get a hotel room here?"

"I think we were just going to drive back tonight." Van Pelt looks to Cho for confirmation, which Cho gives with a nod. "It will be easier for everyone. Will you be okay tonight, though? Do you have somewhere to go? Because I can stay with you if you want."

Although her skills as an agent have improved vastly in her time with the CBI, Van Pelt still remains so young and eager at times.

Lisbon smiles at the younger agent. "It's okay, Grace. I'm fine. I'm staying with Julia." She holds up the keys, then explains, "Agent Savino. I don't know if you had a chance to meet her today."

In spite of the fact that they were barely introduced, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt all answer that they did meet Savino. Van Pelt seems placated by the fact that Lisbon will not be alone tonight.

Jane, although he has kept silent throughout the entire exchange, feels the same relief.

"Okay, I should probably get going, and I'm sure you need to get on the road if you're going back to Sacramento tonight." Lisbon frowns as she says this and glances around the bullpen once more, probably still in the habit of taking stock of her surroundings at every moment.

"I guess I'll see you sometime next week."

The de facto leader of the rest of the team, Cho shakes Lisbon's hand and says, "It's good to have you back, boss," as a farewell. Rigsby follows suit, but Van Pelt cannot simply shake Lisbon's hand. She flings herself forward and wraps her arms around Lisbon, who does not respond with the same ease as she did to the unnamed agent's earlier embrace; Van Pelt, however, does not seem to notice.

Aware that it is now or never (and that _never_ would raise suspicions both he and Lisbon would rather not raise), Jane steps forward with a bravado he does not feel. He touches her forearm gently, grateful that she does not flinch, and whispers, _Teresa_, in her ear before touching his lips lightly against her cheek. He pulls away quickly, but not before he feels her involuntary shiver.

The direct contact, however brief, soothes his anxious nerves. No matter what happens from here on out, at least he knows that she is safe.

She leaves them before they even get to the elevator, taking a side door that probably leads to a locker room or a safe where she would have kept her purse, her cell phone, and a few other important items that she wouldn't want to just leave anywhere during the indeterminate length of her undercover operation.

Once they are in the parking garage, Rigsby holds his hand over his mouth to disguise a yawn.

"Do you want me to drive, Wayne?" Van Pelt's expression mirrors the concern in her voice.

Rigsby shakes his head. "No, no, Grace. You're tired too. I don't mind driving back."

"I'll drive." Jane steps forward, snatching the keys from Rigsby's hands before the stronger man has a chance to protest. "We're all tired. Arguing over who among us isn't is foolish and futile. The longer we stand here arguing needlessly, the later we'll get back to Sacramento."

"Jane's right," Cho agrees. "He can drive us back and drop us off in the CBI parking lot."

Neither Rigsby nor Van Pelt needs much convincing; they both eagerly climb into the back seat of the standard-issue black CBI van. Cho gets into the passenger seat, and Jane readjusts the rearview mirror and turns the key in the ignition. Before Jane pulls onto the highway, all three of them have drifted off to sleep.

_It's better that I drive_, Jane thinks to himself, _I won't be sleeping tonight anyway._

xxx

As predicted, Jane doesn't sleep well that night, or any of the next three. By the fourth, he manages to fall asleep for a few hours due to sheer exhaustion. On the fifth, he stays up late watching the nonstop news coverage of the arrest of one Clifford Mehler. Through some digging, it came out that Mehler's first wife had left him under charges of abuse that had mysteriously been dropped. Mehler had been out to rid other men of any similar allegations by disposing of the source of the complaint.

(Jane hopes that Lisbon had a chance to be in on the arrest and interrogation. Mehler seems to be exactly the kind of entitled, arrogant, misogynistic businessman who would condescend her for her size, her career, and her authority at first, and then hurl angry threats at her when she puts him in his place. He always liked working those cases with Lisbon; there was something extremely satisfying about watching her make the arrest.)

That fifth night, he watches with rapt attention as Agent Redmond gives a short press conference, lauding the dedication and hard work of all of his agents and singling out Agents Mike Casper, Danielle Zeidman, and Teresa Lisbon for going above and beyond the call of duty. Jane tunes out when Director Stratton retakes the podium for a far longer press conference. He already has the information he needs; he won't learn anything new or relevant from Stratton. He's going to have to wait for the answers he needs.

Time passes slowly that week and the next. At the office, no new cases come in and every second that passes is another one closer to the moment when Lisbon will be rejoining them, but home is worse. At work, at least Jane has company; alone, in the empty, dark apartment he's been renting since he finally gave up on the motel (_a step up, but just barely_, she would say with her eyebrow raised), he has nothing but his overactive imagination for company. The look in her eyes in San Francisco when she first noticed him sticks out in his memory, replaying on a loop. The emotions she keeps hidden just below the surface both haunt and perplex him.

_Why would she be hurt or angry_, he wonders as he finally grabs the remote and turns off the television, _when she was the one who left? Come to think of it, why am I not more upset? It would be my right. She's the one who made me want to stay in the first place._

And that's when it falls into place. Everything else he is or isn't feeling is masked by something he should have realized months ago. He's in love with her.

Jane tries the idea on for size, and he finds that it is not so terrifying, loving her. As a matter of fact, he is fond of the idea. He has loved her for a long while now, so perhaps it is not such a leap, and the shift from _loving_ her to falling _in love_ with her happened so gradually that for all of his skills of observation and analytical thinking, he did not even notice until now.

Of course, this leaves him with several more problems.

When Lisbon first convinced him that they should _try something_ together, she had clearly meant it as something casual, comfortable; human contact without the risk of prolonged attachment, something that fit Lisbon's recent relationship pattern rather well. (Recent, he defined as the past four years. There had been relationships in the early days of them working together. She had never mentioned anything, but there had been plenty of signs. He had known.)

Now that he understands how he really feels, there will be no going back to being just friends, or even to something casual. He had loved once, and lost, and coming back from that had nearly killed him on more than one occasion. He could not have come to this point without Lisbon, but will she be willing to break her own pattern for him? Not for the first time, her actions prove impossible to predict.

Then there is the matter of Lisbon's own feelings. He has long suspected that her feelings for him run deep, but friendship and attraction and compatibility do not necessarily add up to feelings of love. He has had many months to contemplate her departure and what that might mean; all the while, she has been losing herself on an undercover operation. It is likely that she hasn't given him much thought at all - if any. Her reaction to him in San Francisco told him that much, if nothing else.

More importantly, there is the question of how these two factors will play off of each other. They are not necessarily mutually exclusive, but there are too many unknown factors for him to make a prediction.

The date of her return to the office remains unknown. She will likely remain in San Francisco for at least a few more days, but after that, she could return to Sacramento at any time. Hightower would get notice, but would they? And would Lisbon come right back, or would she be required to take some time off following such a lengthy stint undercover. There is CBI protocol for such matters, of that he is certain, but he has never bothered with protocol before.

Jane ponders all of these things until he finally succumbs to a deep, dreamless sleep. When he wakes in the morning, he actually feels bright and refreshed. And maybe, just a little bit hopeful.

xxxxx


	7. Book II, Chapter 6

**A/N:** I'm so sorry this didn't go up Wednesday as planned! I ended up staying at work over three hours late and by the time I made it home, it just completely slipped my mind. I should be able to get at least one or two chapters up over the weekend, for those of you who aren't ready to kill me by that point. Only one more chapter in Book II!

.

.

**Book II**  
><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

xxxxx

The few days that follow are peaceful ones for Jane. There is a sense of finality and freedom that comes with his simple realization, and that calms his nerves more than anything.

There has been a general lift in the mood of the bullpen since their trip to San Francisco; the knowledge that their leader will soon be back among them has bolstered their spirits. Cho grumbles more often about his additional paperwork because he knows it will soon no longer be his responsibility, and Rigsby and Van Pelt begin to flirt openly as they have never quite done before. With the holidays almost upon them, Jane suspects it will take those two less than a month to reconcile completely.

He smiles at this. At least theirs is one relationship he can predict, and with some certainty, be assured that this time it will end well.

Thursday of that week, exactly nine days after their trip to San Francisco, Hightower shows up in the bullpen late in the afternoon with Lisbon in tow.

"Are you sure you want to come back on Monday?" Hightower asks as they walk into Lisbon's office; they pull the door to close it, but it gets left open just a crack and that is enough for Jane. He walks over to the kitchen, pretending to fix himself a new cup of tea, to maximize his capacity to overhear. (He has always hated the term _eavesdropping_; it sounds entirely too nefarious.)

"You can have whatever time you need." Through open blinds, Jane watches as Hightower sits on Lisbon's couch; Jane hasn't sat there since before she left.

Lisbon sits behind her own desk. The sight is both familiar and new all at once, but right.

"I need to come back. I've been away for too long."

Hightower nods in understanding. "I don't want you doing anything strenuous in the field until your ribs heal."

"I understand." Lisbon appears resigned.

Jane frowns. She must have been more seriously injured than she'd let on. He found that though he had assumed she might be, he still does not like the reality any more for having expected it.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Lisbon. I know it was a bad time to ask you to leave and that it couldn't have been easy on you, but Agent Redmond spoke very highly of you. He said you could work for him anytime."

Lisbon chuckles. "I'd rather not make a habit of this," she says.

"I think we're both in agreement there," Hightower replies standing up. "I'll leave you on your own to go through your mail then." She pauses in the doorway. "It's good to have you back, Agent Lisbon."

Once Hightower has shut the door behind her, Jane sees rather than hears Lisbon's quiet "Thank you."

And then, there she is, alone in her office and already back at work. Jane's first instinct is to enter her office and lie down on her couch - the sight of her sitting at her desk, sorting through her mail so normal, so _right_, that he almost cannot help himself - but he forces himself to resist.

It doesn't take long before Van Pelt, who has seemingly appointed herself ambassador, knocks on the door. Lisbon motions the junior agent inside, and Van Pelt accepts eagerly, leaving the door wide open, instead of just ajar.

"Hey, boss," Van Pelt says pleasantly in greeting. She immediately walks up to Lisbon's desk and stands right in front of it, forcing Lisbon to crane her neck upward. "When did you get back in town?"

"Just this morning." Lisbon pauses, her slight discomfort only marginally apparent. "I spent all morning cleaning out my apartment, and then I just had to get out of there."

Van Pelt laughs. "So you came here?"

"I knew all this," Lisbon motions to her in tray and mailbox, both overflowing in her absence, "was waiting for me, and I want to get it cleared out before Monday morning."

"You're coming back on Monday?" Van Pelt appears incredulous. "They really wouldn't give you anymore time off?"

Lisbon shakes her head. "They wanted me to take more time, but I'm deferring it for a few weeks. I'll take some extra time off around the holidays."

"That will be nice," Van Pelt smiles. "Spend some extra time with your family. I'm sure your brothers must have been worried about you."

"They were," Lisbon nods and looks away. There is more to this than she is willing to reveal.

Van Pelt seems to sense this, but she persists in hovering around Lisbon's desk.

"I don't want to keep you. I know you have a lot to catch up on, but we," Van Pelt gracefully motions back toward the bullpen, "wanted to take you out to dinner to welcome you back. Cho was thinking that Italian place over by the docks that you love."

Lisbon looks up again. "Thank you, Grace. You guys don't have to do that."

"We want to!" Van Pelt insists; no amount of refusal on Lisbon's part could deter her excitement. "If you can't do it tonight or you're too tired, we'll do it tomorrow or sometime this weekend. Cho and Rigsby said they didn't have any big plans, and we haven't asked Jane yet, but I'm sure he'll come too. He's been really good about coming out with us these last few months. You would have been happy about that."

Lisbon seems surprised by this, but she quickly recovers and smiles demurely. "Tonight is fine, Grace."

"Great!" Van Pelt is ecstatic. "I'll go tell the others and see if I can make a reservation for 7:00 if that's okay with you?"

Lisbon nods at Van Pelt's hopeful question. "Tell everyone I'll be out as soon as I'm done going through my mail."

Jane busies himself in the kitchen as Van Pelt takes leave from Lisbon's office. (He has a legitimate excuse now; his cup of tea has actually grown cold.) He is unsurprised when Van Pelt approaches him from behind.

"Hey Jane," she says, grinning broadly as she greets him. "You don't have any plans tonight, right?"

He briefly considers inventing a reason not to go, but then thinks better of it. Dinner with the whole team will be a relatively innocuous affair, and not going would raise suspicions no matter what his excuse. Besides, it will be a valuable opportunity to get a read on Lisbon outside of the office. (He will simply ignore the fact that their destination - 'the Italian place over by the docks' as Grace called it - is only Lisbon's favorite because he introduced her to it. The team has gone maybe three times in total, but over the years, he and Lisbon have gone together more times than he can recall.)

Jane tilts his head and flashes a smile. "No, no plans."

"Good! Then you'll come to dinner with us?" It's a question, but it comes out as a statement. "We want to take Lisbon out to welcome her back."

"I'll be there," he says, gripping his teacup just a little bit tighter and bringing it to his lips.

Van Pelt doesn't wait around for him to change his mind. She turns on her heels and disappears around the corner, footsteps echoing quietly in her wake. Her voice carries as she animatedly relays both his and Lisbon's acceptance of their dinner plans and then calls the restaurant to make a reservation for five.

Without a reasonable explanation for remaining in his hideout in the kitchen, Jane takes his cup of tea and returns to his familiar perch on his couch, brown leather shifting easily beneath him as he leans back.

On the surface, it appears that everything is finally returning to normal. Lisbon sits in her office, sorting through paperwork and frowning at her computer screen as it takes a few minutes for the slightly outdated monitor to boot up. Van Pelt, Rigsby, and even Cho seem visibly relieved, relaxed by Lisbon's return; they harbor no hard feelings for her nearly six-month absence.

Of course, to them it's just the job, all in the line of duty. But his stake is more personal, and that is why he cannot just let it go.

xxx

They take separate cars to the restaurant, which to Jane is a relief.

The hostess has their table ready and takes them back right away, and Jane immediately entertains himself by predicting exactly what each one of them will order. He should have made a bet with Cho or Rigsby, he thinks to himself. His predictions are correct down to Rigsby's last-minute appetizer addition.

As soon as their waiter takes their order and leaves them with fresh bread and ice water, Van Pelt clears her throat.

"I would like to propose a toast," she says, raising her glass of water in her right hand. Jane has been expecting this but thought she might wait until the drinks they had just ordered arrived at the table.

The others follow suit, and a soft flush settles on Lisbon's cheeks, barely visible in the low lighting of the restaurant.

"To the boss," Van Pelt continues. "It's good to have you back."

"To the boss," Cho and Rigsby echo, each tipping back their glasses.

Jane hesitates for a few seconds, meeting Lisbon's eyes deliberately before repeating the toast and taking a drink. He feels a chill as the cold water hits the back of his throat that has nothing to do with the temperature of his drink.

As is custom, Lisbon is the last to drink, and by the time she places her glass softly back on its napkin, the rest of the team's eyes are focused on her.

"So tell us. What was it like?"

It's Cho who speaks up first, surprising all of them.

"Exhausting." Her admission comes quietly, subdued by its own honesty. She glances away.

"Six months is a long time to be undercover," Jane comments offhandedly, but as soon as he has the chance, he gives her a pointed look.

"I was only at the shelter for four and a half," she counters, retrieving the basket of bread, just to have something to do with her hands. "The FBI was up front with me. I knew when I accepted the task force, there was a good chance they would ask me to go undercover."

There is a hidden meaning in her words that Jane can't quite decipher; he wonders if even she knows what it is.

"I'm sure Lisbon doesn't want to spend the entire meal talking about her assignment," Van Pelt interjects protectively. "She can tell us about going undercover and the FBI next week. Let's give her a break and talk about something else."

Rigsby grins mischievously. "We should tell her about the case we had at that nursing home last month."

"No," Cho says shortly. "She doesn't want to hear that story."

"I think she does," Rigsby argues with a conspiratorial laugh. "You just don't want to tell it."

"Do you have a new girlfriend now, Cho?" Lisbon teases.

"Her name is Gilda," Van Pelt adds helpfully, ignoring the glare Cho sends in her direction (as much as Cho's facial expressions ever change, that is). "She likes to knit. She proposed to him twice."

"She's a bit of a forward thinker for a woman of her age," Jane comments, in as casual and offhanded a manner as possible. He remembers that case well; their investigation at the nursing home had been one of the more intriguing investigations they had handled in the past few months.

Rigsby smirks. "That's one way of putting it."

The entire team laughs at this - _even_ Cho. That seems to break the ice, and from there, the conversation flows freely. Talk of undercover assignments and tentative skirting around issues of the danger and potential risks associated with the aforementioned undercover assignments abandoned in favor general shop talk and stories of some of their more interesting witnesses and suspects from the time that Lisbon was away.

The evening passes quickly this way, friendly conversation and easy team banter pushing any doubts or reservations Jane had about the dinner from his mind. Van Pelt told Lisbon the truth earlier, he had been joining the team more and more often over the past few months, but as much as he enjoyed spending time with the others, there was always an empty seat at the table. Tonight in spite of the uncertainties that plague him, he feels the promise of possibility. This is the family Lisbon always told him they could be, if only he would let them.

He wonders, then, why she was the one who ran off without a word. She appears calm and relaxed as she sits across from him at the table, sipping a glass of Chianti and finishing the last of her meal. Has she simply become that much better at hiding her feelings, or is this newly-acknowledged difficulty in reading her one that has been brewing for some time and is only coming to his attention now?

As other parties come and go, the team lingers over coffee (or in Jane's case, tea) and dessert, a tiramisu that puts all others in the city of Sacramento to shame. He tries not to watch Lisbon overtly as she enjoys her tiramisu, remembering the last time they had dessert at this very restaurant, on one of the few occasions they had gone out while they were together, right before Red John's death. He can't help but grin as she stifles a yawn, fork still in hand.

Her fatigue is catching. Before long, dessert plates have been cleared, the check has been paid, and Jane finds himself in the parking lot, watching as the others drive off one by one, leaving him alone with Lisbon for the first time in six months.

The late night December air is bitter cold for a Sacramento winter, but instead of retreating quickly to the safety of his car, Jane is frozen in place. The city streets are nearly empty at this hour, yet that silence is nothing compared to the one between him and Lisbon. They had been completely comfortable with each other while they had the protection of the rest of the team, but that comfort level seems to have vanished immediately the moment they lost that safety net.

She stands only a few feet from him, illuminated by soft light from the restaurant's old-fashioned lampposts as she hugs her gray pea coat (one he's never seen before) close to her body. He is captivated by the sight of her, a part of him wondering if this isn't all some cruel trick his mind is playing on him, yet another nightmare where he will wake up in the morning and find that she is still gone.

"I, uh... I had nothing to do with choosing the restaurant," she finally says. Her voice is hushed and hesitant, and her eyes dart away, not quite meeting his. "It was Cho's idea."

Jane shrugs it off. She doesn't need to apologize on his account; at least, not for _this_.

"They know you like it here. It was a nice gesture."

Lisbon isn't convinced. "Still, if I had known ahead of time..."

"Don't."

Jane rarely uses short sentences or commands, finding proper manipulation of language one of his most powerful tools, but his own finely-tuned language skills fails him on this occasion.

She exhales, her breath visible in the night air, and laughs uneasily.

"So, Rigsby and Van Pelt," she motions one hand in the direction of the street before quickly bringing her arm back to her chest, hugging it tight against her body to protect herself from the cold. "How long before they're back at it?" Then as an afterthought, she adds, "Or are they already?"

"Not yet," he admits.

Lisbon rolls her eyes. "I give them until New Years," she half grumbles, although her underlying tone is good-natured.

"That's very astute, Agent Lisbon. They were really quite subtle about it tonight, but I wouldn't bet against you."

"The guys will be disappointed they missed this. The great Patrick Jane, turning down a bet."

She tilts her head as she speaks, but not in a familiar manner; her posture seems to change with this, suddenly shifting the Lisbon he has always known into someone he barely recognizes. This must be a lingering effect of her time undercover, the result of having adopted another persona for so many months. There are a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but not for the first time that evening, words fail him and he remains silent, his questions unasked and unanswered.

Lisbon yawns again, but this time she does not try to hide it. This seems to bring her back to herself. Her lips curl upward in a half smile.

"I'll see you on Monday," she says casually, one hand pulling her keys from her coat pocket. The jingle of the keys is accompanied by the click of her remote control key as she turns to her car and unlocks the driver's side door with the press of a button.

Just before she climbs into her vehicle, she turns and consciously meets his gaze for the first time all evening. There is an honest sadness etched in her expression that lies just beneath the surface, the usual spirit and life in her eyes diminished.

"It's _really_ good to see you, Jane," she murmurs.

Before he has a chance to react, she pulls her car door shut and drives away, leaving Jane glued to the spot, staring off into the distance long after her headlights disappear into the darkness.

xxxxx


	8. Book II, Chapter 7

**A/N:** This is one of the shortest chapters in the entire story, but I think you'll understand why it needed to stand alone. It's also one of the most important, and the last of Book II. After this, we shift to Book III and the story from Lisbon's perspective. Enjoy! :-)

.

.

**Book II**  
><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

xxxxx

Jane cannot wait until Monday.

Less than 24 hours later, Jane finds himself standing outside her front door in the early evening, in circumstances not entirely unlike those of six months prior. This time, however, he knows she is home. He will resort to picking her locks if he must, although he remains hopeful that it will not come to that.

He rings the bell twice. Then he waits.

"Jane?"

Lisbon answers the door in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, confusion evident both in her voice and in the way she furrows her brows the moment she opens the front door.

Jane wastes no time. "We need to talk," he says immediately, not waiting for an invitation to walk through the front door.

"Jane!" she repeats herself, more forcefully this time. "What are you doing here?"

"I said we need to talk."

Before she has a chance to protest, he shuts the front door behind him and guides her into her living room. He is wound up and anxious, as proven by his impulsive decision to show up at her doorstep without even an inkling of a plan in his mind. There is a thrill that comes with abandoning his usual calculated plans and letting his emotions guide him. It has been a long time since anything other than Red John caused him to feel this unrestrained.

(The comparison, he knows, goes only so far; otherwise it is entirely unfair to Lisbon.)

In spite of his lowered inhibitions, he still notices the state of her living room. Her books and furniture have not moved, they all sit exactly as he remembers; even the artwork left behind by the previous tenants remains in place, completely unchanged but for an extra layer of dust. Yet most of her personal effects have been removed, likely stored in the extra boxes that are stacked together on her living room floor.

Neither one of them sits down.

"Okay," she says, her words slow and deliberate. "You said you wanted to talk, so let's talk."

For lack of a better plan, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. "You said you were glad to see me. What did you mean by that?"

Lisbon frowns and makes no attempt to conceal the irritation in her voice. "I meant exactly what I said. Although I'm starting to rethink that."

Not the answer he is looking for, but certainly the answer he should have expected.

"That was not my question, and you know it."

Having caught her off guard, Lisbon is on the defensive. She folds her arms protectively over her chest, another move that seems completely uncharacteristic of Lisbon herself. Who was this woman she played while undercover, and how much of that woman will Lisbon carry with her now that it's over?

"Then what _was_ your question?" she snaps, her arms releasing their hold; she looks more like herself again.

"My question," he steps forward and straightens his posture, trying to maintain his figurative high ground, "is why you were so surprised to see me in San Francisco. Don't try to tell me you weren't; you didn't hide your reaction fast enough."

"So I wasn't expecting you," she answers. Her eyes narrow and she steps forward herself, only a few feet separating them now. "I wasn't expecting any of you."

"But I was different, wasn't I? You weren't just surprised to see me in San Francisco, you were surprised to see me at all. Tell me I'm wrong. I know I'm not."

Lisbon looks up at him inquisitively, holding his gaze until her expression softens and the biting edge fades from her tone.

"Why does it matter?" she asks, with an intensity that makes him shiver involuntarily. Her eyes are clear and bright and _honest_, threatening to sever the last of his ties to rational thought.

"I don't know what you want, and I don't want to fight with you." She shrugs her shoulders, not quite in defeat, but perhaps in fatigue. "You show up here unannounced with these loaded questions and who knows what kind of hidden agenda. You're not even supposed to be here. So just out with it Jane. What is it that you want from me?"

"I want _you_."

If he is surprised at his admission, or how easily it slips out, it is nothing compared to the shock with which Lisbon meets his words. She simply stares back at him, her face blank and expressionless, as though his admission has not yet registered.

"I want you," he repeats. "And I want answers, but I'm not going to force them from you. Six months ago you said we would talk later, but you left without saying a word. What am I supposed to make of that?"

Lisbon remains silent.

"You're the one who is always saying that we're a team and we're in this together, but you disappear for months and we hear nothing from you. I don't know where you are or what you're doing or if you're _okay_, and you couldn't even leave me a note saying you had to go away for work and you'd see me when you got back?" He says this all at once; not cool and detached as he'd hoped, but urgent, pleading. He finally exhales and his voice softens. "I'm not asking loaded questions, I'm just asking questions."

Jane crosses the invisible line between them, leaning forward and touching her arm gently. That seems to break her daze enough that she blinks once and her eyes focus on him once again.

"You were the one who wanted this, Teresa." He feels her pulse quicken under his touch, and that sends a thrill down his spine. She is not as unaffected as she would probably like to be. "My plans were set, and I was fine with the way things were. Then you came along and changed them, and I didn't even have a chance." Although he tries to keep his voice even, it unconsciously begins to break. "I fell in love with you."

Before he even knows what he's doing, the hand on her forearm moves to her lower back, pulling her into him. (She doesn't resist.) He kisses her then, unable to resist the familiar scent and feel of her. He knows her, he knows _this_, maybe too well for his own good. Within moments, she's kissing him back.

Everything else fades into the background as he traces indistinct lines across her back, discovering memory in touch and taste and sound. She opens her mouth for his tongue without hesitation, and the kiss quickly turns from chaste to desperate as he pours months of bottled up emotions into every stroke of his hands and swipe of his tongue.

Jane doesn't know how much time passes this way, with only the pounding of his heart as a guide, until he finally finds the willpower to pull away.

He studies her reaction intently. Her face is flushed and her breathing is uneven, and if he had been unsure of his feelings for her, every last notion of uncertainty vanishes in an instant.

He doesn't want to leave her, not now, but he has made his point. This time, it's his turn to walk away. What happens from here is her decision now.

"Like I said, Teresa," he leans in and whispers directly in her ear. "I never had a chance."

He turns and puts one foot in front of the other, walking out her front door and into the cool December air.

He doesn't allow himself to look back.

xxxxx


	9. Book III, Chapter 8

**A/N:** Okay, so now to change things up, we move on to Book III and Lisbon's POV. In which we begin to discover what's on her mind and what she's been up to for the past six months. Yes, I realize this backtracks a little, but it's important to the story and to her frame of mind when the events of the past few chapters come to pass. Next chapter should be up in the next couple of days, depending on my work schedule.

.

.

**Book III**  
><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

xxxxx

Lisbon watches him go.

She should have stopped him, she knows she had ample opportunity, but she finds herself unable to move. She can still feel the imprint of his hands on her back and his lips on hers; she hears his words echo in her ear over and over again.

_"I fell in love with you. I never even had a chance."_

Lisbon is still surprised that Jane is in Sacramento at all, let alone that he is still (apparently) working for the CBI; she cannot process anything more than that.

He was supposed to be long gone by now. Back to his home in Malibu or lying on a beach in the Caribbean or traveling the world. Anywhere but here in Sacramento, still consulting for her team and showing up on her doorstep unannounced, asking questions she isn't ready to answer and making declarations of love she isn't ready to hear.

Although she tried not to focus on it, she had prepared herself for Jane's departure from the second she left him in Van Pelt's care on the day Red John died. Lisbon knew Jane's stance where Red John was concerned, she knew it better than anyone; she had been hoping to have more time before the inevitable happened. More time to maybe change his mind or make him see reason, or even just more time with him before he was gone from her life forever.

The way she had always seen it, there were three possible outcomes.

The first, the least desirable of the three, was that Jane could go after Red John and get himself killed in the process. (There was a subcategory to this option that included Red John getting away, but Lisbon chose never to dwell on that thought for more than a few seconds. It was simply too much to bear.)

The second was that Jane could go after Red John, successfully achieve his revenge, and then spend the rest of his own life locked up in prison - _or worse_ - for premeditated murder.

The third and final option was that she could somehow get there before Jane and arrest Red John herself, preventing him from getting his revenge. No matter how she drew this scenario up, it always ended the exact same way: with Jane furious at her. She knew that he would be unable to even look at her, let alone forgive her for ruining his plans.

Needless to say, Lisbon always preferred the third scenario. Although it would sting, she would be able to handle his anger and his departure; as long as she knew he was out there somewhere and that he was safe, she would be fine. She would miss him, of course. Even before they had entered into their understanding (_not relationship_), he had been a friend, someone she enjoyed spending time with on the job and, on occasion, off the job. It would be worse now, she knew, but it was a risk she had been willing to take.

She knew he would never go for something more, but she wasn't looking for a relationship anyway. Relationships were too complicated, too messy. With Jane, she knew exactly what she was getting; companionship and compatibility for one, the chance for something and the idea of not having to come home to an empty apartment every single night. Lisbon also knew her own feelings ran maybe a little deeper than they should, but that didn't bother her. She could compartmentalize better than most. The benefits far outweighed the risks.

When the time came, she knew that she would survive without him and she would move on in time. So long as she knew he was out there somewhere, and free.

Then the unthinkable happened and she did prevent Jane from getting his revenge.

Lisbon wasn't completely surprised that Jane's anger did not set in right away. After all, things happened so quickly, so unexpectedly; he hadn't had time to process everything yet and neither had she. The confrontation was coming; oh, it was coming. Every time she turned a corner, she half expected him to be there, waiting for her with hatred in his heart and rage on his tongue.

She had matters of her own that she would like to address. The gun, for one. Her one condition in their understanding was that he stop hiding things from her, and yet he had kept this to himself. Although she should have been expecting it, the betrayal stung, cutting and deep. And that wasn't even taking into account the fact that he had gone off on a dangerous chase for a serial killer without a second thought. He might be feeling angry and betrayed, but she was too and she wasn't going to let him lay the blame solely at her feet.

Several days passed, and the expected confrontation never came to pass. Lisbon didn't let her guard down, but she did become better at tracking Jane's exact location at any given moment. It wasn't particularly difficult, as he suddenly retreated to the attic, a place in which he hadn't spent significant time in months.

She could only assume that the inevitable was still coming.

Then Hightower and the FBI approached her with an opportunity. The FBI had an ongoing investigation into a series of murders taking place at a battered women's shelter just outside of San Francisco, and they were looking at a handful of high ranking female state agents to join their task force. She was told the FBI Special Agent in Charge was impressed by her career and very interested in having her on the team. Over the course of several weeks, he had spoken with Hightower at length about borrowing the head of Serious Crimes, but Hightower had been hesitant with the Red John case still open.

When Lisbon shot Red John that morning, she not only became even more desirable an asset in the eyes of the FBI, but also managed to make herself available to them without even knowing it.

The offer seemed too good to be true at the time. Agents Redmond and Casper arrived at CBI headquarters late one evening in week following Red John's death, while Lisbon was still knee deep in wrapping up both the administrative and investigative sides of the serial killer's file, with an opportunity that was both a tremendous honor and an incredible gift when she needed it most.

The time away and the chance to be part of something outside of the familiar walls of the CBI would serve her well. With the Red John case all but completed and Jane certainly brooding his way out the door right along with it, Lisbon jumped at the offer of something more than coming into work everyday and staring at an empty couch. At least in San Francisco, she would be doing some good again.

Agent Redmond informed her that she would be needed for at least three months, so by the time she got back, she assumed (or maybe hoped) that she would be reasonably adjusted to the idea of the team without Jane as a part of it.

What she had not expected was that she would be needed in San Francisco less than 48 hours after that initial meeting with Redmond and Casper. That left her with a lot to do and not much time in which to do it.

Someone at the DOJ's office would be making arrangements for a couple of summer interns to stay at her place over the summer, at least to have someone looking after it while she was away, but this also meant that she would have to spend some time going through her apartment, putting anything of personal value into boxes and storing them in the attic. It wouldn't take too long (she rarely kept anything of value - whether monetary or sentimental - out in the open anyway), but it was still a necessity.

Then there would be the matter of her brothers, who would not be particularly thrilled at this new development. Lisbon had a good idea, just from the initial outline of the case that she received at her briefing, that one of the options being considered to solve the case might involve an undercover operation. You didn't go out and specifically target your search to female state agents who also happened to be single and/or not have a family for a case like this without that kind of underlying motivation. No, her brothers were not going to like this.

By the time she had taken care of that, and managed to hand over the very last of her Red John reports, Hightower had volunteered to take care of explaining everything to the team. As much as Lisbon thought she should be the one to tell them, it simply was not possible if she wanted to be in San Francisco on time. She wondered if maybe she would regret not taking the opportunity to say goodbye, particularly to Jane, but perhaps it was for the best. That way, she might be able to remember Jane as he had been that morning at her apartment, instead of bound and bleeding in that abandoned old farmhouse; or furious and angry at her, as he was sure to be if they spoke now.

So Lisbon reported for duty in San Francisco and tried not to give it a second thought. At this she was mostly successful, although just as she would always worry about her brothers, and she would always worry about her team. Every one of them.

She enjoyed her first few weeks in San Francisco. In a way, it felt much like it had when she first came to California when she was 21. Fresh out of college, just a few short months after her father died, coming to California and enrolling in the academy had been a wonderful escape. She had been responsible for other people for so long, had an obligation to them, that there was an unparalleled freedom in letting someone else worry about whether or not the case updates were getting filed or who among her her agents was breaking protocol at any given moment.

In her off hours (as few and far between as they were), Lisbon visited some of her favorite places in the city. She had not been to San Francisco for any purpose other than work in several years, and she had forgotten how much she had loved it.

The investigation itself, however, was not going well. Over the course of eighteen months, four women from the shelter all disappeared and turned up dead within a week of their disappearance; two of them had disappeared only a few weeks previously. It had taken over twelve months for the murders to be linked together due to the differing physical types of the victims and the fact that the initial murders had been so spread out. Without anyone to advocate for them, no one took much notice when the victims' bodies turned up.

Only when the third body was discovered, beaten and strangled before being dumped in the river, did local law enforcement make the connection that all three women had been the victims of domestic abuse, and all three women had disappeared from the same shelter. That turned the case into a matter for the FBI.

Months passed and the FBI's investigation turned up very little in the way of concrete evidence, but a few suggestions that the person involved may have a connection on the inside. That's when they started to look at bringing on female agents from state law enforcement, as the San Francisco Field Office offered very few options in terms of female agents eligible for any kind of undercover work, particularly not one that would require such an extensive time commitment.

Although the task force had a few inconclusive leads, none brought them any closer to determining what was really the motive behind the killings. There were plenty of theories, but no answers. And no one wanted to talk to outsiders or law enforcement.

By the time the FBI brought in state agents, they were desperate. In three weeks' time, Agent Redmond approached her about going undercover at the shelter. Lisbon had prepared herself for this; she accepted without a second thought.

At that point, the real work began.

xxxxx


	10. Book III, Chapter 9

**A/N:** To make up for the fact that I haven't been able to edit and update as quickly as I'd like, I'm posting two chapters today. The final chapter of Book III should go up tomorrow, and then there are only four more chapters until the end of the story. I figure Book IV is what anyone who is reading this is waiting for, anyway. There's still a lot that hasn't happened yet.

.

.

**Book III**  
><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

xxxxx

It took nearly another three weeks of preparation before she entered the shelter as Teresa Miller, the badly beaten wife of Aaron Miller, and even longer before she could gather any useful information. She had to tread carefully.

The shelter itself was a former three-story apartment building, generously converted as part of an old woman's dying wish. Because of its close proximity to some of the wealthier San Francisco suburbs, it often provided refuge for many abused women from the upper middle class. It had been open for just shy of ten years, and although it could accommodate up to 20 women at capacity, there were currently eleven residents (now twelve, Lisbon would remind herself); along with a lively African American woman in her late 40s named Leah who was both a nurse and the live-in director, four full-time staff volunteers, and at least fifteen part-time volunteers. Knowing that the likelihood of there being someone on the inside at the shelter, Lisbon had to take each one of the volunteers into consideration. Although she did due diligence and considered the residents and Leah as well, Lisbon followed her instincts and did not press the matter.

Frequently, she would find herself wondering what Jane would do, or what he would see in the different people she met. Whether or not he would consider each person a suspect, and why. At times, that could be more distracting than constructive.

The days passed slowly. For a person so used to her own routine, the very nature of an undercover assignment left her completely drained on a daily basis. Her only real respite was the part-time job at a restaurant that had been set up for her ahead of time; from there she would be able to make contact with Agent Casper, who was second in command on the task force as well as her handler.

In spite of the information she was gathering on the volunteers and women at the shelter, the real break in the case did not come until a fifth woman disappeared, about three months into Lisbon's assignment.

It was not unusual for a woman to leave the shelter without much warning, but the minute Lisbon realized that Jenny was missing, alarm bells sounded internally. Jenny was young, in her late 20s, and she had been making arrangements to go live with a cousin in Chicago. Nothing about her situation made Lisbon believe that she would disappear without saying a word, nor did she seem like the type to go back to her ex-fiancé, who had put her in the hospital on at least three separate occasions.

Lisbon alerted Agent Casper of her suspicions as soon as possible, but it was already too late. Jenny's body turned up ten days later.

Lisbon felt the loss acutely. She was there not only to find the culprit, but also to protect these women. She had failed. She promised herself it would not happen a second time.

In the time immediately following Jenny's disappearance and death, Lisbon found several new avenues of investigation to pursue, and for the first time, the possibility of catching the guilty party - or parties - felt real. At this point, Lisbon first became suspicious of Debbie Summers.

Summers had been a volunteer at the shelter for just under three years, but she did not have any close relationships with any of the other long-term volunteers. Because she worked in the office, she would have easy access to all of the women's files, and thus, all of their personal information. But this was just part of a theory, not nearly enough to raise suspicion on its own.

What really made Lisbon suspicious was Summers' reaction (or lack thereof) to Jenny's disappearance. Lisbon happened to be on her way past the main office when Leah mentioned the fact that Jenny had left the shelter without any warning or explanation. From Lisbon's vantage point, she could see clearly as the rest of the volunteers expressed their concern and fear. Summers' reaction was unlike any of the others in that, while she may have mirrored exactly what they said, her face did not show any distress.

It was almost Jane-like, Lisbon would later muse, the way she decided to dig deeper into Debbie Summers on something as subjective as her facial expression.

But Lisbon needed more than suspicion; she needed proof. Debbie Summers was just the link on the inside, one piece of the puzzle, and Lisbon had to figure out how to trace Summers to everyone who was involved. The task would have been daunting enough had Lisbon been working at full capacity, with the resources of the CBI at her fingertips and her team (and Jane) working alongside her.

Instead, Lisbon was alone in an unfamiliar place, without the security of her badge or her team, or even her own identity. She had Agent Casper, upon whom she knew she could rely, and Agent Zeidman, whose familiar face always brought Lisbon some comfort even when they could not speak. But for the majority of her time, she was on her own.

Lisbon finally discovered the link between each victim during a late night trip to the main office, during which she managed to utilize several of Jane's lock-breaking techniques (he spent one rainy afternoon teaching her and she'd picked it up quickly; not long afterwards - and much to his amusement - she showed him how to hot-wire a car). Although the victims had absolutely nothing in common at first glance - physical type, acquaintances, even geographic proximity - there was one common link between them. Their significant others all either knew or did business with the real estate developer Clifford Mehler.

She knew that name well. She remembered his first wife, a scared young woman named Irene, whom Lisbon had met in her precinct at the SFPD some fifteen years ago. Lisbon herself had been a rookie, fresh out of the academy, and Irene had not been much older than she was. They had only met briefly, Lisbon brought Irene coffee while she waited to give a statement, but the woman had made an impression.

Irene's left arm was in a cast, splotches of blue and purple visible all over her skin that no amount of layering or makeup would disguise. It was the first time Lisbon had seen a victim of domestic abuse since she joined the force.

That night, when Bosco and the others went out for drinks to celebrate closing another one of their active cases, she declined the invitation, instead stopping at a liquor store on her way home to buy a bottle of tequila just so she could dump it down her kitchen sink.

_That will never be me again_, she had vowed silently, not for the first time.

Even years later, Lisbon could still remember how angry she felt when the charges against Clifford were dropped. It had been Bosco who noticed how upset she had been; he had helped her channel that, prevented her from drowning in it.

Lisbon had not thought about Clifford or Irene Mehler in _years_, but the second she saw that the first victim, Katie Nicholas, was the wife of Richard Nicholas, the Vice President of Marketing for Mehler Properties, Inc., Lisbon knew instinctively where the investigation was headed. Each of the other victims must be linked in some way to Mehler or one of Mehler's associates.

The very idea of it left her reeling. Five women in under two years, and all of them associated with Mehler. It wasn't the most shocking discovery, as Lisbon suspected other men who spend a significant amount of time with Mehler were more likely to be prone to violence themselves. And Mehler, both brilliant and opportunistic, had more business contacts now than ever before, as he had taken advantage of the dip in the real estate market to invest and expand as soon as prices bottomed out.

There were still plenty of questions to be answered, but at least this gave her direction, her first real, solid lead.

The problem was that from the inside, there was little Lisbon could do outside of what she was already doing. All she could do was bring the information to Casper at their next meeting.

Once Casper had the information, he brought it back to the rest of the task force. They easily confirmed Lisbon's theory that each victim's husband or significant other knew Mehler in some capacity, but no one could trace the link between Mehler and Debbie Summers. There was still no concrete evidence linking either of them to the crimes, and the FBI could not make an arrest on circumstantial evidence and theories. If they did, Mehler and Summers would walk and more women would die.

Finally, after nearly two months of inconclusive searching and dead ends, Lisbon caught a break. Summers came in early that evening, appearing distracted and upset, and Lisbon watched her closely. While everyone else went down to the backyard for a cookout (as the holidays approached, the volunteers tried to provide some festive programs, making the best of a difficult situation for all involved), Lisbon hung back and tried to stick close to Summers.

Lisbon managed to overhear threads of Summers' cell phone conversation with a man she called Jim. From what Lisbon could hear, they seemed to be discussing back records at the clinic, women who had already passed through and moved on. There was a large filing room in the basement that housed those records, but the part-time volunteers did not have access to it. As far as Lisbon knew, only Leah had access to that particular filing room; it was the only way to ensure each residents' continued privacy and protection.

Unarmed and unable to follow Summers to the basement without risking detection, Lisbon was forced to wait while Summers broke into the file room and copied whatever documents she was after. Three hours later while everyone else was still outside, Summers left with two bags full of information copied from the room.

Lisbon had to act fast. Without any knowledge of whether or not Summers had any incriminating information on her, Lisbon knew she couldn't let this opportunity pass her by. She made a split-second decision to follow Summers, knowing that she would not be able to contact Casper or Zeidman to let them know what her plans were. She quickly picked the lock to the top drawer of Leah's desk in the main office, grabbing the keys for the spare car that the shelter has available for residents' use, and raced out to follow Summers.

Trailing Summers at a safe distance in order to avoid detection, Lisbon wound through streets in an unfamiliar San Francisco suburb, every minute moving farther and farther away from the city itself. Summers, obviously not the criminal mastermind behind this operation given that she did not take any measures to prevent being easily followed, drove for almost an hour before arriving at her destination, an old manor house at the end of a private driveway.

Lisbon parked the car off the side of the road, several back roads away from the entrance to the driveway, and she made her way back in the darkness, with only the crescent moon as guide.

She should have been tired, but between adrenaline and anticipation, she barely noticed. Mindful of the fact that she could not gather evidence without it getting thrown out in court (and that she was unarmed), she surveyed the property as best she could at almost midnight. The temperature had dropped significantly since she had last been outside that afternoon, and she was grateful she had the forethought at least to grab her coat before rushing out the door in pursuit of Summers.

The name on the mailbox read _Stroup, J._ and Lisbon wondered if the house belonged to Jim, the man Summers had been speaking to on the phone earlier. It took Lisbon nearly ten minutes to walk the length of the driveway in the dark, the house well-secluded amongst tall trees and far away from any prying eyes.

Her initial inspection of the property revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and finally, exhaustion set in. She returned to the safety of the car, tucked away out of the view of any passing cars, and armed with the knowledge that now that she had made it this far there was no going back, she allowed herself to fall into a restless slumber.

xxxxx


	11. Book III, Chapter 10

**A/N:** As promised, here is Chapter 10 as well. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review! It is much appreciated, as always :-)

.

.

**Book III**  
><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

xxxxx

She awoke several times during the night, and each time she ran the engine for a little while to get the heat in the car going. Winters may be far milder in Sacramento than in her native Chicago, but that did not mean it was not cold. Fortunately, there were a few blankets in the trunk of the car (along with a flashlight and several granola bars in the glove compartment, she discovered), so she was able to make do with what she had.

When she woke up for good, it was light outside and her neck ached from sleeping in the cramped car. She shivered and glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 10:32 AM. Later than she had hoped, given that she barely felt like she got any sleep at all. Her thoughts a little more clear in the morning than they had been the night before, she hoped that Casper wasn't worried about her missing their check in that morning; she'd had to miss check ins before in order to keep her cover, and she wouldn't stay any longer than that afternoon. If she could get to a phone to call him, she would, but she was too far away from anywhere she knew, and without the aid of GPS or any idea where to go, she could not risk abandoning her stake out.

Instead, she ran the engine again with the heat on high for a few minutes to give herself a chance to warm up again before heading back out to investigate the house properly during daylight hours.

Although Debbie Summers' car was gone, the pickup truck that had been in the car park the night before was still there, so Lisbon hung around the outskirts of the property, investigating the old shed in the back and the two story garage (which were both conveniently left unlocked, as far as she was concerned). She found several guns in the shed and pocketed one, making sure it was loaded, just in case. If nothing came of this, she would return it. If it happened to be properly registered, which she doubted.

Late in the afternoon, just when Lisbon had done everything she possibly could and was ready to give up and head back to the shelter to avoid blowing her cover, movement came from the main house. The front door swung open and a man walked out onto the front porch, locking the door behind him.

As soon as Lisbon was certain he was heading to his truck, Lisbon took cover in the woods surrounding her, using them as a shortcut to get to where she parked her car. She took off at a run, moving as quickly as she can while still dodging roots and low hanging tree branches; she arrived at her car panting heavily.

She immediately turned on the engine and drove off in pursuit of her suspect. After almost half an hour retracing the same path she had taken the night before while following Debbie Summers, the suspect (whose name Lisbon assumed was Jim Stroup, after having inspected several pieces of mail addressed to him while she was in his garage) took the entrance ramp onto the highway and headed south instead of back towards the city.

Lisbon forced herself to stay focused while she drove, ignoring the fact that she had barely eaten in the past 24 hours and the only sleep she got was restless at best. Eventually she turned on the radio, leaving the station on the preset quiet classical station, just to give herself something else to listen to other than the endless loop of questions in her head, threatening to wear her out.

Stroup made several stops over the course of the next few hours, few of them long and even fewer noteworthy, except for one half hour trip to a hardware store during which Lisbon feared she may have lost him. By the time the sun began to set in her rearview mirror, Lisbon was battling hunger and fatigue, running dangerously low on gas, and starting to doubt her own sanity. She felt as if the months of being someone else had finally broken her and she was no longer capable of making rational decisions, as evidenced by her now nearly 24-hour expedition that had yet to amount to anything conclusive.

At this point barely even aware of how long she had been driving, Lisbon nearly missed it when Stroup flashed his right turn signal and got off at Exit 12. This time, he stopped at The Silver Star Diner (_Open 24 hours!_ the sign advertised in neon pink lettering). She stopped at the gas station next door to fill up - grateful for the FBI-issued credit card and the fact that she happened to leave her wallet in her jacket pocket the night before - then waited five minutes in the parking lot before going inside to watch him more closely.

There were only a few other patrons in the diner. Several truckers sat at the counter, and a family on vacation had taken over two tables by the front window. Stroup took up a booth in the back corner with a young redheaded woman. Lisbon finally got a good look at him from a table in the opposite corner of the diner, which she selected as it gave her the ability to observe without appearing obvious. Stroup was tall and well-built, probably in his early to mid 30s, with dark hair and dark eyes; his face was unshaven, but not messy in appearance.

Lisbon only caught a brief glimpse at the woman he was with when she turned her head. She appeared to be just about Stroup's age, medium height and fine features, and looked a little bit unsure of herself. Lisbon wondered if she had followed Stroup all this time just to see him on a blind date.

When the waitress came to take her order, Lisbon only asked for a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs. As hungry and tired as she was, she did not dare eat too much so soon. The food came out quickly, although the coffee alone (at this point, she was on her third cup) was enough to perk her up.

Lisbon had almost finished eating when Stroup threw a couple of bills on the table and helped the woman (_his date?_) to her feet. He walked her out the door of the diner, and that immediately struck Lisbon as odd. Without waiting to signal her waitress that she would be right back, she expelled herself from the booth and followed them out while simultaneously checking her coat pocket to reassure herself that the gun she took that afternoon was still there.

Around the corner in the parking lot, Stroup was trying to help the redhead into the passenger's seat of his pickup truck, but the woman was fighting him. Or trying to fight him. He must have slipped something in her drink.

Seeing that as her in, Lisbon sped up her gait toward them.

"Stop!" She commanded. "Stop right there. Let her go."

Stroup spun around rapidly, startled. He took one look at Lisbon and grinned menacingly, an ominous sight only enhanced by the shadows that fell on his face in the poorly-lit parking lot. He laughed.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"You'd be surprised." Lisbon reached for her gun and took a few steps closer to his truck. "Let her go."

Stroup's grin only widened. "Oh, you're fun. I don't think I'll let her go, but I think I might take you with us."

Lisbon stepped closer again. Although he would never acknowledge it, the very fact that she was moving closer instead of cowering in fear threatened him.

Only about five feet away from him now, her right hand gripped the gun tighter and pulled it out of her coat pocket, aiming it right at his chest. "I don't think you will. I'm CBI. Let her go _now_."

The color drained from his face and his grin immediately vanished. He had been expecting an easy kidnapping, so much so that he apparently had not even armed himself. Stroup stepped aside and let go of the redhead, who stumbled down from the truck and toward Lisbon.

"Th... thank you..." she mumbled almost incoherently as Stroup reluctantly let her out of the truck.

Lisbon steadied the woman with her free hand, supporting her weight. "You're gonna be okay. What's your name?"

"Mel... Melanie."

"Okay Melanie. I need you to go back inside and have someone call 911. Can you do that for me?"

Melanie appeared uncertain at best, completely unsteady on her feet, but Lisbon could not take Melanie inside and stay outside to keep Stroup from driving off.

"I... think so," Melanie said slowly, and she carefully guided herself to the diner wall to get herself inside.

Lisbon took her eyes off of Stroup for less than a second, just to check that Melanie was making her way inside, and he took that opportunity to lunge forward, grabbing for the gun and striking Lisbon hard in the chest. He was unsuccessful in his attempt to retrieve the gun for himself, but he does succeed in knocking it out of her hand.

His first hit took Lisbon by surprise, knocking the wind out of her as sharp pain set in, and his second and third hits to her side and her face left her gasping for breath. _This must be how he started on all those women when he killed them_, she thought.

"Not so strong now, are you bitch?" he sneered.

But if she had not been expecting his first hit, he was definitely not expecting hers. Before he could react, she knocked him over and retrieved the gun. She fired one warning shot into the air before aiming it right back at him.

"Do not move," she ordered sharply, her breath coming in shallow gasps through the pain in her side.

"Excuse me. Is something goin' on out here? I thought I heard something."

Lisbon turned her body carefully, moving behind Stroup so that she never once took her eyes off of him. Her waitress had opened the back door and poked her head out.

Lisbon coughed, still slightly winded from the brief altercation.

"I'm a cop. Everything's under control," she explained, then motioned to Melanie, who had not made it inside yet. The woman was slumped down by the side of the diner, barely conscious. "I think she's been drugged. Can you help her inside and call 911? Tell the operator that you have an undercover CBI agent who needs backup, and give them the address."

The waitress nodded obediently and did not dare ask anymore questions, simply doing as Lisbon requested.

Local cops arrived on the scene in less than five minutes.

xxx

Once the local LEOs had Stroup handcuffed and in custody, Lisbon returned to the diner and asked if she could use the phone. No one had given her any trouble about her story as of yet, but she knew that the questions would be coming. And more importantly, she needed to call Casper to explain why she missed both her scheduled check in and her back up check in.

He picked up on the second ring.

_"Casper."_

"Mike, it's Lisbon."

_"Oh, thank God! Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine. It's a long story, but I have one of our suspects in custody." The relief of talking to Casper again washed over her, and the story began to fall from her lips freely. "Debbie Summers took some documents from the permanent file room last night, and I followed her to home. She's staying with a man named Jim Stroup. He and Summers are definitely in this together, I think they're the people Mehler has been paying to do his dirty work. I followed Stroup all afternoon. I caught him drugging a woman and trying to force her into his car. We got in a fight, but nothing happened. I think at least one of Summers or Stroup will flip if we can get the DA to offer them a deal."

"And you're okay?" Casper seemed less interested in her story for the time being.

_"I'm fine, I told you. You hit harder."_

Casper went quiet at the other end of the line. It was a comment in poor taste, as he had hit her under duress several times prior to her entering the shelter. She had to look the part, and she couldn't be a battered woman without being _exactly_ that. Casper wanted to fake bruises with makeup, but Lisbon knew that was not an acceptable alternative.

She hated using that against him, but she was aware that her comment would stop him from pushing to know exactly how hurt she was. Her chest was sore and there would inevitably be some bruising, but all things considered, she was fine. She wasn't the story. She just wanted to get Summers and Stroup booked and then go home to sleep for a week.

_"Where are you? We're going to send someone for you right now."_

"We're at the Silver Star Diner right off of Exit 12." Lisbon's thoughts shifted quickly. She had Stroup in custody, but Summers was still out there, probably at the shelter as her name had been on the schedule for that night. "Someone needs to go to the shelter to pick up Debbie Summers. I have more than enough on these two for a warrant, and I don't think she's been tipped off yet."

_"I'll take care of it. You just stay where you are. Call me if anything changes."_

Lisbon felt better knowing that Casper would take care of it. She knew she could trust him to handle this with extreme caution; from the moment they started working together, she had trusted him implicitly. Some of that had been a necessity, the undercover agent-handler relationship dictated trust, but Mike Casper was simply an honest man and an outstanding agent. Lisbon never had any occasion to doubt him.

"I will," she replied, and she hung up the phone.

Outside, the paramedics were just arriving and loading Melanie onto a stretcher. Lisbon had been hoping to have a few minutes to herself to rest before the FBI came to pick her up and she had to start telling her story all over again in more detail, but she did want to talk to Melanie before the paramedics took her to the hospital.

"Hey, Melanie." Lisbon walked up to the stretcher right before they loaded it into the ambulance. "How are you feeling?"

Melanie smiled at her weakly. "Better, I think." Her voice was strained and quiet, but she was awake and she no longer stuttered uncertainly.

"You look better," Lisbon patted the younger woman's hand. "You're gonna be fine, you know."

"I know," Melanie agreed. "I've had worse dates."

In spite of herself, Lisbon laughed. "Yeah," she repeated. "You're gonna be fine."

One of the paramedics caught Lisbon's eye and asked, "Do you need her for anything? We want to take her in now."

"Take her. Someone from the FBI will be by to ask her some questions tomorrow morning, but for now, she just needs to rest."

As the paramedics raised the stretcher up onto the back of the ambulance, Melanie's voice called out.

"Thank you!" The effort from speaking strained her, causing her to cough three times in rapid succession. "Agent...?"

For a moment, Lisbon's mind went blank. "Agent Lisbon," she said quietly, more to herself than to answer Melanie. It felt strange, slipping back into her own skin for the first time in months. "I'm Agent Lisbon."

xxxxx


	12. Book III, Chapter 11

**A/N:** With this, I bring you back up to where Jane's POV left off. I'd like to finish posting the final four chapters by the end of this week or early next week, so expect the first part of Book IV to go up in the next day or two. Enjoy!

.

.

**Book III**  
><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

xxxxx

It took the FBI much longer to arrive on scene, but within an hour and a half Lisbon had refused further medical treatment and was finally on her way back to San Francisco.

Agent Casper and Agent Savino, a fellow female CBI agent on the task force with whom Lisbon had developed an easy friendship during the early weeks on the case, were among the first to greet her. Casper barely let her out of his sight. Savino did not even let Lisbon get any farther away than five feet. Although they took custody of Stroup, their attention was focused in on Lisbon.

She appreciated their concern, even more now that she knew how worried everyone had been, but the added attention still made her uncomfortable.

Exhaustion caught up with her midway through the drive back, and she nodded off as they sped down the highway. However, when they arrive at the San Francisco Field Office, she jolted awake immediately. Agents Casper and Savino escorted Stroup upstairs, but Lisbon hung back with a third agent, Jerry Danfield, whom she did not know as well as Mike or Julia but respected nonetheless, and waited for a second elevator.

When the elevator car deposited her on the correct floor, she took a deep breath to steady herself before following Danfield and heading toward the bullpen. As they walked, Danfield kept her up to date on the Giants' offseason moves and the fourth quarter collapse at the Kings' game the night before. She made comments in all the appropriate places, grateful that the conversation was about something relatively inconsequential - _anything_ other than her job and the undercover assignment.

The entire task force - and several other agents whom Lisbon had never seen before - were gathered in the bullpen, waiting to welcome her back. But it was not the task force who surprised her - not really.

One of the agents announced that her CBI team had come all the way from Sacramento to help out. When she turned to find them, she saw not the three of them, but the _four_ of them standing together not far from her desk. There, right next to Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt, was the one man she had been absolutely certain she would never see again. Patrick Jane.

Lisbon passed the next ten minutes in a complete daze, although she hid it well. She was vaguely aware of the fact that she carried on several conversations: with Director Stratton, with Agent Redmond, and finally with her own team as the FBI task force dispersed. However, she had no memory of the conversations themselves, only aware that they occurred and that she took part in them.

All she could think about was the fact that Jane was there, still working with the team enough that he knew to come to San Francisco with them. That he didn't leave. For months, she had been mentally preparing herself to return home to her life without him. Now she had no idea how to react to his presence.

Lisbon was lucky that Julia Savino had already promised to give her a ride back to her apartment, where Lisbon had been staying prior to going undercover anyway. When Lisbon arrived in the lower level of the parking garage, Julia's car was there waiting.

During the short drive from the Field Office to Julia's apartment, Lisbon replayed the events of the day in her head from beginning to end, focusing on the events of the past hour in particular. Even as Julia commented offhandedly about how nice it was that Lisbon's team had been so concerned for her well being that they came to help out with the search - particularly mentioning how impressed she had been with the consultant Jane and how insistent he had been in aiding the task force - Lisbon still could not believe it.

Arriving at Julia's apartment after 11:00 at night, Julia offered to get Lisbon something to eat or anything that might make her more comfortable. Lisbon thanked her for her generosity but refused, opting to retire early.

Julia's apartment was spacious and well-decorated, more like a _home_ than Lisbon's ever had been in the five years she had lived there. The guest bedroom where Lisbon had been staying before she went undercover remained exactly as it had been on the day she left for the shelter. It took the last bit of strength she could muster to rifle through her suitcase to locate an old jersey and a pair of pajama pants amongst her things.

Lisbon reclined on the bed, dazed and overcome with fatigue even as she tried to process everything that had happened. She fell asleep instantly and did not wake up until 5:00 the next evening.

xxx

There were things people had told her about recovering from an extended undercover operation, but there were also things that nobody mentioned ahead of time.

The simple fact of the matter was that she spent so much time focusing on taking on that new identity that she would often forget how to be herself, and adjusting back to her own life consequently proved difficult. This was the reality that Lisbon found herself thrown into.

As the rest of the task force gathered evidence, went on raids, and finally (finally) had enough information to link the crimes to Mehler, but Lisbon was barely involved. She spent most of her time working through the details of her case report, with the help of Casper whenever he could spare time away, and had to sit through several psych evaluations, which although expected were never enjoyable.

Summers and Stroup both gave Mehler up in their confessions, striking a deal with the DA. Summers made her deal quickly, while Stroup held out a little longer. The damning piece of evidence that made Stroup cave was the fact that three years ago Melanie Pearson, the woman Lisbon had saved that night outside the diner, had been a resident at the shelter for eight months. Her name had been highlighted in the records that Summers copied.

Mehler was charged and taken into custody, but she could not sit in on the interrogation because she was in the emergency room being evaluated for her injuries. (Casper made her go; she never would have given in on her own.) Stroup may have only gotten a few hits in, but he still managed to break a few of her ribs in the process.

Soon enough, over a week had passed since her departure from the shelter, and the task force was disbanded. The matter of returning home to Sacramento, which even just a few days previously had seemed like something in the remote future, was suddenly upon her.

Lisbon knew that she had time off coming to her, at least a month's worth if her calculations were correct, but she did not want to take it right away. What she really wanted was to get back to work, to get back to her team, and to see what exactly happened while she was away.

More importantly, she needed to see what had really happened with Jane, and she knew the longer she put off seeing him again, the harder it would be.

Before she left San Francisco, she called Hightower and set up an appointment to come in the next day.

xxx

When Van Pelt asked her to dinner, Lisbon had been completely blindsided.

Lisbon never intended for the team to corner her like this. Oh, she appreciated the gesture and the idea of taking her out to dinner had been a wonderful way to make her feel welcomed back to the CBI and to the team, but they had picked _Arturo's_, of all places.

At first, the dinner was a little bit awkward and uncomfortable by circumstances alone. Arturo's was her and Jane's place, one of the few restaurants they started frequenting together years ago, long before they had become, well, whatever they had become.

(Lisbon herself still wasn't sure, despite nearly six months of trying to define it and six months trying to move past it.)

Memories, mostly positive ones, flooded her the moment she walked inside the restaurant. When the team proposed a toast and Jane gave her a brief but meaningful look, she knew he remembered as well.

After a few questions about her time in San Francisco that left her feeling a little too vulnerable in front of her team, the conversation steered itself to a case that the team had handled while she had been gone, and then took off from there. The change in direction allowed Lisbon to relax fully for the first time since they arrived. She ordered a glass of Chianti and the chef's special ravioli, both of which she suspected were Jane's predictions for her meal, and let the food and wine and company envelope her, reminding her slowly of who she really was now that Teresa Miller was no more.

The team lingered over coffee and dessert, a necessity at Arturo's, until finally Lisbon found herself stifling a yawn. She had woken up early to drive back to Sacramento that morning and had spent the day working on unpacking the boxes she had stored in her attic while she was away, all before going in to meet with Hightower to get everything lined up for her to return to work on Monday. The team followed her lead and paid the bill. In a matter of ten minutes, the other three had driven off, leaving her alone with Jane.

Lisbon shivered and hugged her new coat closer to her; the coat had been a rare impulse buy from the weekend before when Julia demanded that they go out and do something together before Lisbon returned to Sacramento.

"I, uh... I had nothing to do with choosing the restaurant." She looked away as she spoke, somewhat hesitant and unable to meet his gaze as she felt the strength of it, studying her. "It was Cho's idea."

Jane shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. Lisbon wished, not for the first time, that she could read him as well as he seemed to be able to read her.

"They know you like it here. It was a nice gesture."

"Still," Lisbon equivocated, "if I had known ahead of time..."

"Don't."

The brevity of his command, the harshness of it, was so unlike him that she almost stepped backwards in disbelief.

She laughed in an attempt to cover her unease but knew, of course, that he saw right through her. She tried changing the subject, instead.

"So, Rigsby and Van Pelt. How long before they're back at it?" After a moment of quiet contemplation thoughtfully adding, "Or are they already?"

"Not yet," Jane answered.

Okay, so her assumption was correct. There had been a few moments during dinner when she thought she had seen the rekindling of an old spark between her two junior agents. As long as they kept it out of the office this time, she had no problem with it. If they could work through the roadblocks that arose the first time around, they deserved to be happy.

"I give them until New Years," she quipped as she rolled her eyes.

At that, Jane could not conceal the hint of a smile, disguised by shadows and barely visible, but present. "That's very astute, Agent Lisbon. They were really quite subtle about it tonight, but I wouldn't bet against you."

"The guys will be disappointed they missed this. The great Patrick Jane, turning down a bet."

Jane appeared to be deep in thought, and she waited patiently for him to voice whatever it was on his mind. They were treading in unfamiliar waters here; they both knew it. When Jane did not say anything for several minutes, Lisbon found herself succumbing to her own fatigue, yawning once more. This time, she did not try to disguise it.

The quiet, subdued, reflective Jane before her scared her more than anything she'd ever seen from him before. Even on his angriest, most volatile days. Lisbon looked up at him and felt like she was seeing him for the first time, with every last mask torn away.

"It's _really_ good to see you, Jane," she whispered, before she could stop herself.

Embarrassed, she retreated quickly to her car and drove away. When she arrived home, she still found herself a little out of breath.

xxx

Jane surprised her yet again when he showed up on her doorstep that next evening, first asking probing questions and then declaring that he had fallen in love with her. Lisbon had no idea what to make of his questions, and she certainly had no idea what to make of his confession.

So when he leaned forward and kissed her, she did not fight it. In fact, she welcomed the contact, responding easily to the familiar motions of it; even the pain from her broken ribs seemed to dull in the heat of the moment. Somewhere in the back of her mind, rational thought was telling her to put a stop to this and to push him away _immediately_, but for once, she let her thoughts get eclipsed by her feelings. She just let herself go.

It was Jane who broke the contact, leaving her vulnerable before him.

"Like I said, Teresa." The emphasis on her given name was barely noticeable as he whispered in her ear, but it thrilled her nonetheless. He only used her given name on rare occasions, and now he'd used it twice in the course of fifteen minutes. "I never even had a chance."

And then he was gone; vanished out the door before she can gather enough of herself to stop him.

xxxxx


	13. Book IV, Chapter 12

**A/N:** I really meant to get this up days ago, I'm so sorry for the delay! I'm just going to chalk this week up as a lost week and keep going with this... Here's where Lisbon's POV picks up from where Jane's POV left off, in which Lisbon deals with a few things the show dropped the ball on (IMO at least). Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review!

.

.

**Book IV**  
><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

xxxxx

It is probably for the best that he leaves immediately. Lisbon is still reeling and, now more than ever, cannot trust herself to act rationally where Jane is concerned, as evidenced by her reactions from the moment he first crossed her threshold.

Lisbon collapses on her sofa and replays the past six months of her life in her head, starting with the morning she shot and killed Red John, questioning her decisions and wondering how she had made so many seemingly egregious errors when she made her plans.

Should she have stayed? Would things be different now? Almost certainly they would, but _how_?

Lisbon considers all of these questions until she feels the beginnings of a headache coming on, forming in her temples and radiating out from there. She has almost the entire bottle of painkillers prescribed for her broken ribs by the ER doctor, and although she knows she isn't supposed to, she cuts one pill in half and washes it down with tap water.

It's the pain in her side that reminds her of what she was a part of in San Francisco. Immediately, she stops doubting herself. Whatever happens or doesn't happen with her own team and with Jane, her job in San Francisco was important; if she loses sight of that, she will lose herself right along with it. She has two more days before she goes back to work; she will not waste them with second thoughts about things she cannot change.

Filled with new determination, she resolves to think over what Jane told her but not to press herself into anything she isn't ready for quite yet. She is still recovering from four and a half months undercover. An unknown weight lifted from her shoulders, Lisbon returns to the task of clearing out the boxes in her living room.

The simple act of going through her own things after so many months of pretending to be someone else is cathartic for her. She has already put everything away in her bedroom, but she wants to feel settled into her own home again. On a whim, she decides to tackle the boxes tucked away in the far corner of her living room as well; the ones she has not touched since she first moved into the apartment.

The first box is full of mementos and keepsakes she has been hanging onto since she was a child. Everything from a few high school track medals and faded yearbooks to old family photographs, the ones she had been able to save, and the teddy bear that had been given to her by her grandmother the day she had been born, which she would never admit she still had but kept with her even in her college dorm. (For all that she will deny it, Teresa Lisbon has a sentimental side.) Lisbon pulls the box of family photographs to one side, vowing to go through them more thoroughly and put some of them into albums.

When she opens the second box, she inhales sharply. Inside, she finds several old blankets and some Christmas decorations she hasn't used in years, but nestled in amongst the blankets, she notices a smaller box she thought she lost in her last move. The box contains pictures that had been taken while she was on Bosco's team with the SFPD, starting from her first years on the team all the way up until she left to come to Sacramento and join the CBI.

Sam Bosco's face stares back at her from the photographs, as does Matt Willis' and Gabe Marquez'. Where once there had been four of them, now she is the only one left.

She had been so bitter when she left San Francisco, so angry at Sam, that she had hidden these pictures away and never looked at them again until now. The years that had passed and the fact that they had worked alongside once again had a way of making her forget the bad more easily, and she could remember how much she enjoyed her time on Bosco's team. He had been an incredible team leader and mentor; he had given her an opportunity when she needed it most.

Quickly, before she loses her nerve, she picks up her cell phone and dials Mandy Bosco's home number, hoping Mandy has not moved. After three rings, a young teenage boy's voice answers.

"Bosco residence. Zach speaking."

Lisbon last saw Zachary Bosco at Sam's funeral, but that had been nearly two years ago and he had been twelve at the time. How much older he must feel now, with his father gone.

"Hi Zach, it's..." she hesitates momentarily. Zach must barely even remember her; he had been about five when she left San Francisco. "It's Teresa Lisbon. Is your mom available?"

"Yeah. Just a minute," he replies. In the background, Lisbon hears him yell, _"Mooooom! It's for you! Someone named Teresa Lisbon."_

Lisbon chuckles to herself. That answers that question.

_"Zach! Manners."_

Lisbon hears Mandy admonish her oldest son, then the click on the other end of the line as Mandy picks up.

"Teresa?" Her tone is friendly, but the question in her greeting is implied. "It's been a while. Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine, Mandy," she says reassuringly. "I've been going through some of my things, and I found some pictures of the team from San Francisco. I was going to get copies made because I thought you might like to have some of them."

Mandy inhales audibly on the other end of the line, not unlike Lisbon's own reaction when she discovered the photos, and then, "Oh, Teresa, that would be wonderful. I don't have many pictures of Sam on the job. I'm sure the boys would love to see them."

"Great. Do you have time for me to stop by this weekend?"

"I think so. Let me just check," Mandy replies quickly before pausing to check her calendar. "How about Sunday afternoon? Charlie and Zach both have games tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's fine. Just give me a call when you know how things are going for the boys, and I'll stop by whenever works for you."

"I will," Mandy agrees easily. "Thank you for calling Teresa. Really, I appreciate it."

"Of course."

At that moment, Zach calls Mandy away from the phone, so the two women say their goodbyes and hang up.

Lisbon smiles to herself as she returns her cell phone to its usual resting place on the desk in her entryway. It will be good to see Mandy again, she thinks.

xxx

On Sunday, Lisbon arrives on the Bosco's doorstep in the mid afternoon.

Lisbon has only been to Sam's house once before, having briefly put in an appearance at the gathering held on the afternoon of his funeral. It's a fairly ordinary two-story brick home, but Mandy has a small garden in the front yard and has redone the front walkway since Lisbon was last there.

Inside, the house is comfortable and homey. Zach is sitting at the kitchen table with textbooks spread in front of him, doing his homework, and Lisbon sees Charlie, the younger of the two, in the backyard shooting hoops.

Mandy Bosco is a tall woman, thin but not excessively so, with short black hair and brown eyes. She is always well put together; today she is still dressed in a skirt and sweater set, and probably has not changed since going to church that morning. Yet she appears worn and weary; she has aged rapidly in the past two years. Mandy hugs Lisbon and asks if she would like anything to drink.

"I'm fine, thank you," Lisbon replies.

"Okay then," Mandy leads Lisbon through the hallway, past the kitchen and into the living room. "Why don't we sit here? Zach has a big lab report due tomorrow in biology, so he's spread out at the kitchen table."

Mandy appears a little bit uncomfortable, but Lisbon does not know if that is a product of the fact that it's been so long since they last saw each other, or if it's simply because Lisbon represents the career that led to Sam's death. She smiles at Mandy, trying to put her more at ease, and follows her to the sofa. Lisbon sits at one end and places the box of photographs down on the coffee table.

Mandy does not sit down immediately. "I think I'm going to make myself some tea. Are you sure I can't get you anything?" she asks.

"You know, coffee would be great if you have some," Lisbon concedes. Although she does not need coffee, she recognizes that Mandy wants to do this for her, so she goes along with it.

"Of course we do," Mandy replies, retreating back to the kitchen. She stops at the kitchen door and turns around and asks, "How do you take your coffee?"

"Uh, milk and sugar if you have it, but really, whatever you have is fine."

While Mandy goes to the kitchen to fix the drinks, Lisbon settles back against the armrest of the sofa and inspects the living room carefully. There are pictures of Sam with the boys, Sam with Mandy. It's good for all of them that Mandy keeps his picture up and doesn't avoid the subject at all costs. In contrast, one night in a drunken rage one, Lisbon's father had gone so far as to get rid of her mother's things and tried to destroy many of their family photos, and those are things that are impossible to replace.

All in all, Mandy and the boys appear to be coping well with their loss. Mandy has the support of her own family as well as Sam's older brother, and that helps, but the most important thing is that Mandy herself has not gone down the same dark road that Lisbon's father did. Mandy chose to keep her family together; Lisbon's father chose his own grief and, in doing so, tore his family apart.

Mandy returns with two mugs, interrupting Lisbon's train of thoughts. Mandy places both mugs on coasters, one in front of each of them. Lisbon takes a sip of her drink while Mandy picks up the box of photographs and starts rifling through them.

"I organized everything by date, and I tried to label them so you'd know what each one is," Lisbon explains, still gripping her mug.

Mandy studies a picture of Sam and Gabe drinking beer at one of their favorite dive bars, then one of all four of them at Matt's wedding. Mandy had been the one who took that picture. When she looks up, there are tears in her eyes.

"Wow, these are really great Teresa. Thank you."

Lisbon locates a box of tissues on a bookshelf by the wall and retrieves them; Mandy accepts the box gratefully.

"I'm sorry," she says, still sniffling. "It's been a little while since I've been like this."

"Please don't apologize," Lisbon shakes her head.

Mandy shrugs, clearly still embarrassed. "I think I'll look through the rest of these later. It's just that sometimes, I still forget that he's gone."

Lisbon nods, remaining silent but supportive. She understands what Mandy is saying all too well, although she knows there is nothing she can say that will help.

"Anyway," Mandy wipes the tears away from her eyes and takes a sip of her tea. "Tell me what's been going on with you. How are things at the CBI?"

"I've been away for the past few months." Lisbon is grateful for the coffee now; the mug in her hands gives her something else on which to focus. "Actually since the week after the Red John case closed. I've been working with the FBI in San Francisco. I'll go back to the CBI tomorrow morning."

"Oh, wow," Mandy appears suitably impressed; Lisbon can feel herself blush. "Anything I would have seen on the news, or can you talk about it?"

"Did you see that the FBI arrested Clifford Mehler late last week? That was our case."

"I should have known that was you. Sam always said you were the best cop he'd ever worked with." Mandy quirks an eyebrow and looks at Lisbon knowingly. (Lisbon blushes harder.) "Oh, don't get like that. He said it because it was true."

Lisbon doesn't know how to respond, and instead takes a long drink from her mug. Mandy exhales uneasily in the silence, clearly bothered by something but not ready to admit to it yet. Lisbon feels her nerves building in anticipation, wondering if Mandy has questions about the night that Bosco died. She doesn't want to lie to Mandy but she knows she cannot tell the truth.

After a pregnant pause, Mandy finally glances down at the floor and speaks softly. "I'm not sorry that Red John is dead. Do you think that makes me a horrible person?"

Lisbon tries not to let her relief show on her face, that this was all that had been on Mandy's mind. "Not at all," she asserts with confidence; Mandy does not need a reason to doubt her words. "It means that you're human. To tell you the truth, I'm not sorry he's dead either. I don't think anyone is."

Mandy looks up from the floor gratefully at Lisbon's words.

"If we had arrested him and brought him to trial, the outcome would have been the same," Lisbon continues. "He would have been found guilty and been given the death penalty."

"And you're _sure_ it was him?"

She nods. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Okay." Mandy released a shaky breath, then repeats herself. "Okay."

Guilt takes hold of Lisbon as she sees Mandy's insecurities. She should have come to Mandy immediately after she shot Red John; she owed Bosco that much. But she couldn't, not then. Her own grief had been too great, although she hardly understood it at the time.

Zach interrupts them to ask for help with his biology lab, and Lisbon takes the opportunity to excuse herself. If it is this difficult for her to be around Mandy Bosco, then she can only imagine how impossibly difficult it must feel for Mandy herself.

Still, as difficult as it was, Lisbon is glad she came. And somehow, spending time with Mandy Bosco feels less daunting than the idea of returning to work the next morning.

xxxxx


	14. Book IV, Chapter 13

**A/N**: I should probably not promise anything in terms of posting progress because every time I do, it seems like real life makes it a point to make my editing/posting goal impossible! That said, there are only two chapters left. But of course they still have plenty left to work out! If they didn't, they wouldn't be Jane and Lisbon :-)

.

.

**Book IV**  
><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

xxxxx

The next morning comes all too quickly, and before Lisbon knows it, she is riding the elevator back to the familiar fifth floor and the Serious Crimes Unit.

She had met with Hightower immediately when she arrived, so by the time Lisbon reaches the bullpen, the rest of the team is already assembled. Jane is reclining on his couch, eyes closed but not asleep (she can tell, even from a distance); Rigsby and Van Pelt are discussing the evening's Monday Night Football matchup while Cho pretends he isn't interested - although he isn't fooling anybody.

Lisbon gives everyone a quick wave and exchanges 'good mornings', and then heads into her office, leaving the door wide open. Sitting on her desk is a cranberry muffin on a plain white napkin. As she picks the muffin up, she notices Jane's neat, familiar script.

_They were all out of blueberry. Welcome back._

Out in the bullpen, Jane is still lying supine on his couch, with his hands folded underneath his head.

Lisbon isn't sure if this is a peace offering or not, but she did run out the door without eating breakfast that morning so she bites into the muffin. It is still warm. Jane must have purchased it fresh out of the oven.

Lisbon has just finished eating when Rigsby wraps his fist on the door (even though it is still open) and pokes his head inside her office.

"We're up, boss," he says exuberantly. "Body found at a gym downtown. Black male, late forties. Blow to the back of the head. Witnesses reported seeing him in a fight with another man just three days ago."

Lisbon balls up the muffin wrapper and throws it overhand right into the trash can. "You bring the car around," she directs. "The rest of us will be right down."

And just like that, she is back at work.

xxx

The murder is an easy open and shut case; the team wraps it up in record time in spite of the fact that Lisbon's field work is limited due to her broken ribs. The killer is the same man who had been seen arguing with the victim a few days before, and although the team considers a few other suspects in the beginning, the evidence quickly confirms their suspicions. The killer confesses to Van Pelt in five minutes' time.

The quick distraction of the case, however open and shut it may be, helps Lisbon readjust, and other than the fact that she and Jane have not said anything to each other about what happened in her apartment, everything is exactly as it was before Red John's death and her departure.

Lisbon has an increased awareness of Jane now, one that seems to have come with his confession, and she notices things she never had before. The way he touches her lower back when they leave a room together, the fact that he is more aware of the days when she skips breakfast than she is, how he stands just a little bit closer to her when they discuss a case. She never noticed these things in the past, not even in the months they had been together; they were simply actions she grew accustomed to and took for granted as part of Jane. But now, they suddenly mean so much more.

Still, they do not talk about what happened; they are rarely even alone together except for brief interludes in the car on their way to interview suspects. The team doesn't get another case of their own that week; however, they do get called to help White Collar Crime with an embezzling case that results in several dead bodies when the company's CEO discovers the whistleblower.

Friday afternoon, with their part in the embezzlement case all but wrapped up, Lisbon lets the team go home early for the weekend. She remains at the office, still catching up on her mail, when a soft knock on her office door interrupts her train of thought. She looks up immediately; she does not recognize that knock.

"I hope it's okay that I came. The receptionist downstairs said you were still here."

The voice belongs to Alex Senn, only 23 years old and the youngest women who had been staying at the shelter during Lisbon's time undercover. Alex is classically beautiful, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and high cheekbones. Today her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she wears an apron, part of her work uniform; she has been putting in hours as a barista while she gets back on her feet after her husband pushed her down the stars.

(She is an upbeat young woman with a sarcastic sense of humor that only comes out once you get to know her. She would joke about how "getting back on her feet" was literal in her case. She had been one of Lisbon's favorite fellow residents.)

"Of course it is." Lisbon smiles and motions for Alex to come in and sit down. Alex complies but glances around the office nervously, so Lisbon abandons her desk and joins the younger woman on the sofa.

"I didn't know if, well..." Alex fidgets in her seat, bouncing her good leg (the one that didn't need surgical repair after her fall) repeatedly up and down in apparent agitation. "I didn't know if you would want to see any of us. After we found out who you really were."

Lisbon shakes her head rapidly. "The only reason I never came back was because I had too much to do at the FBI, so they sent someone else to pick up the rest of my things. I don't know what they told you."

"Just that your name isn't Teresa Miller, and that you're actually a CBI agent who helped catch Clifford Mehler and Debbie Summers. That they were behind the unexplained disappearances." Alex frowns. "Do I still call you Teresa? Or is it Agent Lisbon?"

"Teresa is fine," Lisbon replies with an encouraging smile. "Can I get you anything? We have bad coffee and probably a couple of stale donuts if you're hungry."

Alex laughs and seems to relax at this. She motions to her barista uniform with one hand. "I think I'm set with coffee for today. I just... I wanted to say thank you from all of us. Everyone, we're all so grateful, and I didn't want you to think that we weren't..."

"I was happy to," she answers. "You've all been through enough. This was the least I could do."

"You can say that, but it doesn't make what you did for us any less important. We won't forget it." Alex's eyes sparkle playfully as she adds, "Besides, I had to come see for myself that you really _are_ CBI. This is a pretty nice office."

"I do alright for myself," Lisbon quips.

Alex grins, a genuine smile that lights up her face, and Lisbon once again wonders how a young woman with as much going for her as Alex had ever ended up married to such a bastard.

"I should probably start heading back," Alex says, standing reluctantly. "Someone took the car and went AWOL earlier this week, so we've been a little bit backlogged."

Lisbon laughs in spite of her self, then rises to walk Alex out.

At the elevator, Lisbon hands Alex her card. "Take care of yourself," she advises. "And call me if you ever need anything, okay?"

Alex nods in affirmation. "I will, Teresa. Thank you again."

Lisbon waits until the elevator doors have closed and the panel on the wall indicates that the car has reached the lobby before turning to walk back to her office. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies Jane in the kitchen fixing a cup of tea. On impulse, she joins him.

"Who was that?"

Jane's question is innocent enough, but Lisbon would bet good money that Jane had been listening in on at least part of her conversation with Alex.

"How long have you been here eavesdropping?" she counters.

"'Eavesdropping' has such negative connotations," he says in protest, holding his blue teacup in one hand while he stirs with the other. "I just came to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of tea."

Lisbon raises an eyebrow and shoots him a pointed look.

"I may have overheard some things, but it's not my fault. You left your door open."

That is as much of a confession as she is going to get from Jane on the matter, and it's more than he would ever admit to anyone else. "Her name is Alex, and she's one of the residents back at the shelter. I think she just wanted to come see for herself that what they told the residents about me was true."

"She seems young," he observes, finally deigning his tea ready and taking a sip.

"She is," Lisbon confirms. "She's 23."

"Too young to be in a place like that."

"Better there than with her husband," she argues. "And none of them should need to be there."

"Very true," Jane agrees. "And how about you, Lisbon?"

She frowns. "What about me?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his concern genuine by the tone of his voice. "I saw you stop to catch your breath earlier. Are your ribs bothering you?"

"It's not bad. It just catches me off guard sometimes," she admits.

Jane accepts her answer and, although contemplative, does not probe her any further.

"I know you're not seeing anyone and you've already passed your psych evals, but I'm here and well, I'm not a shrink. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

He turns to leave, but before she is aware of what she's doing, she calls out, "Jane, wait." He stops in his tracks, eyes focused on her expectantly.

"You asked me why I was surprised to see you in San Francisco." The words tumble out of her mouth on their own; she finds the spontaneity exhilarating. "I thought you would be gone by now. I thought you would hate me for taking Red John from you."

"Oh, Lisbon," he whispers, his hand ghosting across her hairline and finally resting gently against her cheek. Her face warms beneath his fingertips. "Hating you was never an option. Nor was leaving. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. All of you." He nods his head back toward the bullpen. "But especially _you_."

For a few seconds, Lisbon thinks he might kiss her again. She isn't sure if she wants him to or not.

(There is disappointment, though, when he doesn't.)

When his hand falls back to his side, its warmth still lingers against her cheek.

"I saw Mandy Bosco this weekend," she announces, directing the conversation away from the electric current that has formed a line between them, a line that she is not quite ready to cross no matter how many times he does.

"How is she?"

"They're all doing well, all things considered. I had copies of some old pictures made, and I thought she should have them for the boys."

Jane smiles knowingly. "So you finally cleared out those boxes in the corner of your living room?"

Lisbon's eyes go wide and she hits his chest indignantly. "You've been through them, haven't you! You little cheat!"

"I may have," he says with a shrug. "Not on purpose though. I was looking for your small food processor, and I thought it might be in one of those boxes. Once I was in the boxes, I figured I might as well..."

"My small food processor broke, so I threw it out." She glares at him, although she's not really all that annoyed. She should have assumed he went through those boxes; that's just what he does. "I didn't use it enough to justify buying another one. I just use my blender."

He winks at her. "You could have told me that."

"I assumed you already knew," she grumbles back.

Jane leans in to tuck her hair behind her ear and whispers, "Oh, I did."

Lisbon hits him in the chest again.

"Right," she says, rolling her eyes. "On that note, I think I'm going to call it a night. I'll see you on Monday. Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Lisbon."

Even though she knows that things between the two of them are still uncertain, she leaves the office that evening confident that no matter what happens, she won't lose his friendship; he will always be a part of her life.

She had thought before that she would get used to life without him and she knows that she could. But the truth is that no matter what, she doesn't want to.

xxxxx


	15. Book IV, Chapter 14

**A/N:** Okay, so here we go, the second to last chapter! I haven't had a chance to reply to my lovely reviewers after the last chapter, but I thought you'd rather have this now and wait a little while longer for a review reply. There will be a more detailed Author's Note before the final chapter, so for now I leave you with this!

.

.

**Book IV**  
><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

xxxxx

Coming back to the CBI in December makes Lisbon feel a little bit like Rip Van Winkle in that when she left, it had been June, and now that she's back, the office is decked out in colored lights and flyers are going up about holiday parties and gift exchanges. The office kept going without her; the realization is both comforting and unsettling.

Jane takes a few days off at the end of the week after Lisbon's return, and that breaks their carefully-constructed status quo. His absence is an unexpected shock when she arrives at work to find his couch empty and no explanation. In light of him telling her that leaving was never an option, she finds his sudden truancy all too disconcerting.

Jane calls Cho late in the morning to explain that he has to take care of a few things and will be back to the office on Monday. When Cho relays the message, he adds that Jane specifically told her not to worry.

_That sounds ominous_, she thinks to herself. But she smiles at Cho and thanks him for talking to Jane. She ignores the slight pang in her chest that Jane did not call her directly.

Jane's absence forces her to consider their relationship over the past few years, and particularly over the past eighteen months. From the moment the lines between colleague/friend and something more began to blur (by the time they crossed those lines for good, they had been tested in more ways than one). He said he was in love with her, and she believes him.

So the questions that she keeps putting off are: Is she in love with him as well? Does she even want to be? And if she is, what is she going to do about it?

It has been a long time since she was last in a relationship that lasted longer than a few months, and even longer since she last considered herself in love with someone.

She knows she cares for Jane; she cares for him deeply and has for years. She enjoys spending time with him. He is intelligent and passionate and charming (arrogant and volatile and dangerous, her logical brain reminds her). And in spite of her shock and surprise, she had been so happy to see him that day in San Francisco.

But her shock then had been nothing in comparison to the moment when he told her he was in love with her.

If she hadn't been angry and confused, she might have returned his confession.

_Oh, crap. I **am** in love with him_, she realizes suddenly. _This is not good._

Because no matter what he feels or what she reciprocates, they have spent too much time skirting around the issues. If there is a chance for this to work out between them, then they have to talk about what happened six months ago and clear the air. There have been too many people and too many secrets in their relationship for too long.

She would give Jane his time off. When he came back, she would be ready. This time, she would be ready.

xxx

Lisbon arrives at work on Monday with an extra bounce in her step. Her ribs have finally begun to heal, the pain subsiding to a dull ache that only flares if she breathes too deeply or makes sudden jarring movements. It is her last week of work before taking several weeks off to fly back east to spend the holidays with her brothers, and before she leaves, she is going to have this business with Jane taken care of one way or the other.

They have no active cases, so she spends the day going through case reports and her never-ending backlog of mail (two weeks later and she is still sorting through it). Although she is preoccupied with her paperwork, she takes note of the fact that Jane, back from his two day sabbatical, spends almost the entire day in the attic. She hates the idea of him brooding up there and disconnected from everyone else as much as ever, and with concern, she wonders why he has reverted back to that behavior now.

Late in the afternoon, she finally abandons the idea of waiting patiently for him to reemerge and climbs the attic stairs, determined to drag him down by his vest if she has to.

Instead of finding him lying on his makeshift bed and brooding, however, she finds him cheerfully cleaning up the attic. The bed is dismantled, his sheets and blankets neatly folded, and several leather bound journals stacked in an orderly pile. Unidentified jazz music plays in the background; Jane is holding a broom and sweeping in time with the music.

"Oh, there you are Lisbon," Jane looks up from his task, broom still in hand. "I've been waiting for you."

Lisbon is taken aback. "You've been waiting for me?" she asks.

"Yes. I've been wondering when you were going to make an appearance. I thought I'd clean this old place out as I really have no need for it anymore."

Lisbon inspects the work he's done on the attic so far. She's never seen it looking so clean, but she tries to suppress the hope she feels bubbling in her chest as she takes in the sight before her.

"That's great, Jane. What brought this on?"

"It was time," he explains with finality in his voice. He makes a large circular motion with the broom and flashes one of his most charming smiles at her. "So, what's on your mind, Lisbon?"

She takes a deep breath to steady herself and says, "We need to talk about what happened with Red John."

Jane's expression sobers immediately. The broom stills in his hand.

"You say you could never hate me," she continues, willing herself stay calm and composed, "But you wanted Red John and I took him from you. You wanted him so much that you kept an illegal gun, and you took that gun and ran off in pursuit of him without so much as telling any of us where you were going!"

"I couldn't have told you if I wanted to," Jane counters quickly. "If I had waited, he could have gotten away."

Lisbon sputters indignantly at this. "And it never occurred to you that it might be a trap? Which, by the way, it _was_."

"Of course it occurred to me that it might be a trap! It was worth the risk. He didn't know I had the gun."

"It's never worth the risk," she shakes her head, incredulous. "What if you had died, Jane? What if I hadn't figured out what his messages meant and I hadn't gotten there in time?"

Jane shrugs noncommittally. "He wouldn't have killed me. He just wanted to threaten me. He knew about us, you know. He had your father's firefighter's shield. He had been in your apartment!"

"You think I don't know that!" Lisbon raises her voice. She is almost yelling now; her composure evaporating rapidly. "When I noticed dad's shield was missing, I thought I was going crazy. I looked for it for weeks. When I found out that _he_ had it all this time... I've thought about moving, you know. He broke into my apartment and neither one of us noticed."

Jane leans the broom against the wall and approaches her. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder and gives her a subdued, almost forlorn look. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asks. "When you first discovered your father's shield was missing, why didn't you tell me? I would have helped you look for it."

"Because it was my father's," she answers; softly now, without raising her voice. "Because it was the one thing of his I kept, when we got rid of everything else." She shrugs, his hand on her shoulder seems to burn through her blouse. "Because it was more personal than we were every supposed to get."

Jane smiles sadly. "I wish you had told me."

Lisbon recoils at this, withdrawing from his touch as she remembers the point she has been trying to make. She raises her voice again. "Like you told me about that gun? Where did you even get it? You say you want me to talk to you, but you still kept _this_ from me. Trust and honesty only work if they go both ways, Jane. I mean, God, _you had a gun_! No one asked any questions, they just assumed it was Red John's, but how could you do that to me?"

As she speaks, Jane's posture goes from relaxed to rigid. "I was trying to protect you," he says, the quiet desperation in his tone mirrored on his face. "After what happened to Kristina, I couldn't risk you knowing anything more than you had to. And look what happened anyway! As careful as we were, Red John still found out!"

"Jane!" she exclaims, her eyes narrowing and locking on his. "How many times do I have to tell you that I can take care of myself? That I decide what I do and don't need to know? I can't keep having this same fight with you."

"Then let's not fight about it," Jane moves closer to her, running his hand along her forearm briefly and clasping her hand in his. "It's in the past now. Let's just move on."

"I want to, Jane. I do," she admits quietly, trying to ignore her own involuntary physical reaction to his touch and proximity. "I love you," she adds, giving his hand a squeeze before breaking the contact, "but I don't trust you. I can't as long as you keep doing things like this."

Lisbon leaves him alone in the attic to finish what he started, but the look on his face when she tells him this haunts her for the rest of the evening.

xxxxx


	16. Book IV, Chapter 15

**A/N:** Alright, here we go, the final chapter! This has been a long time coming, and I am grateful to each and every one of you who has managed to stick this out with me. Especially because this is the first big bang story I've actually seen through to completion. I'm not going to individually thank reviewers here because if you signed in, you should have received a personal review reply. I appreciate every single one of my reviewers, whether you signed in or not, and whether you've stuck with me from the prologue or if you're just tuning in now to see how things turned out :-) I do, however, want to take a minute to thank **hardly loquacious**, **Afterglow04**, and particularly **yaba** for their help throughout my writing process, as well as my entire support network of unofficial cheerleaders.

A few notes in terms of the story itself. Yes, this is the end of this story. There is the opportunity for another short story or two (at least) in this universe in the future. Whether or not those actually happen depends on a few different factors. Mostly my own time and energy as I go into my holiday writing commitments on top of my two ongoing stories (Turning Tables is now my #1 priority), but also general interest, if there is any. In the meantime, there are a few things that will be happening at my fic archive at livejournal (link in my profile): a master post for this story with a few more detailed notes and soundtrack listings that should go up in the next day or two, daily holiday ficlets for various fandoms during the month of December, and an excerpt from a Jane/Lisbon dystopian AU I've been playing around with for fun (posted as 'heartlines'). So if you're interested, you're welcome to check that out.

I think that's all from me. I hope you've enjoyed the story, and once again, thank you for reading :-)

.

.

.

**Book IV**  
><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

xxxxx

Lisbon barely sees him for the rest of the week, and although she worries she has upset their balance more than ever, she does not regret telling him the truth. She does worry about him, however, and the fact that he is _still_ spending his time up in the attic. He can't possibly have that much to clean. She considers going upstairs to check on him, but eventually decides against it.

The week passes quickly in spite of her concern for Jane, and before she knows it, she is wishing everyone "Happy Holidays" and leaving the team in Cho and Hightower's hands until the second week in January. Hightower wanted her to take more time off, but Lisbon refused. She had been away for six months; she would take the rest of her time off at a later date.

She looks for Jane, but he is nowhere to be found. Impulsively, she pens a note to him and leaves it tucked in between the cushions of his couch. If he sits there anytime in the next two and a half weeks, he will undoubtedly notice that someone has messed with his couch cushions and he will find her message.

Her flight isn't until the next afternoon, but Lisbon is already looking forward to her trip. Although she never would have taken the time off on her own, the extended vacation will give her a chance to actually spend time with her brothers and their families for the first time in several years. In the car on the way home, she even flips to a radio station playing cheesy holiday music and hums along contentedly.

When she pulls up in front of her apartment, it becomes apparent as to why she couldn't find Jane at the office. He's sitting on her front doorstep, one to-go cup from Marie's in each hand, waiting for her.

Her heart starts to race in anticipation as she locks her car and makes her way toward him.

"Hi." He greets her quietly as he rises to his feet, holding out one of the two cups. She accepts it gratefully.

"Hey." She takes a long drink and gives herself time to gather her composure. "Do you want to come inside?"

"Please." Jane gives a short nod and waits patiently while she searches for her keys to unlock her front door. When they step over the threshold, he studies the suitcase standing just inside the door and asks, "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"3:30," she replies, putting her coffee down on the desk, taking off her coat, and hanging it on the back of her chair. "I looked for you before I left the office."

He frowns. "Oh."

"It's alright," she says, leading him back into her living room. This time, the boxes (_all of them_) are completely gone; they've been emptied out and put away. "I left you a note."

Lisbon sinks down onto her sofa, leaning back against the armrest, and Jane follows suit obediently, seating himself at the opposite end. She wants to ask him why he is here, but she waits to see what he volunteers on his own. This silence between them feels oddly comfortable and familiar, even as each second that passes adds to her anticipation.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said in the attic," he begins finally. There is truth to his tone, vulnerability and honesty. To her great relief, this offers her reassurance that he is not trying to charm or manipulate her now. She does not even think he has planned out what he is going to say.

"I want to be honest with you," he continues. "I want you to be able to trust me. I know I haven't been forthcoming in the past, but things are different now. _I'm_ different now. I just don't know how to alleviate your doubts."

His voice trails off, but he does not seem to have finished yet. Lisbon takes another sip of her coffee while she waits.

"I've been working on something for you this week. Consider it part of your Christmas present." Jane pulls three leather-bound journals from inside his suit jacket. "These are the journals I kept with all of my notes about Red John. If I thought it was part of the case, I put it in here. Every last detail is written down in these. I was going to throw them out, but I want you to have them so that you know... everything."

Lisbon's hands shake as she accepts the proffered journals. "Thank you, Jane, but I can't... I don't need them."

Confusion crosses Jane's face. "You don't?"

Her lips curl in a half smile, amused; she releases a low chuckle that seems to melt the puzzled expression from his brows.

"I don't." She raises her eyes so that she is looking directly into his, assuring that she has his attention. "The gesture is all I ever really needed."

"Oh," he says, once again reduced to short syllables instead of full sentences.

Lisbon shakes her head, full of warmth and affection in spite of herself. She feels like she's spent years fighting this; they've passed the most difficult hurdles and she doesn't want to fight anymore.

"We can throw them out together," she decides, shifting forward in her seat to rise from the sofa.

"Wait," Jane urges. He reaches out with one hand to motion for her to sit down again. "I, uh. I know you said you expected me to be angry with you for taking Red John from me."

Lisbon nods slowly in affirmation, waiting to see where he is going with this.

"When Bosco was dying, he told me something. I know I told you that he wanted me to look after you..."

She quirks an eyebrow to let him know that she never for one second believed Sam Bosco had said that.

"... but what he really said," Jane continues, "Is that when I got Red John, I would have to make a decision. I could kill him, and I probably should, but I would have to know what I would be giving up in doing so."

_Oh, Sam_, she thinks, now able to recall his memory with fondness instead of just pain and regret. _You always knew, didn't you?_

The sound of Jane's voice draws her from the fleeting thoughts of the past.

"I don't know what would have happened if Red John hadn't knocked me out that day or if you hadn't deciphered his messages and come to us, but I will always be grateful that I never had to make the choice."

Lisbon has never seen him so calm and level-headed when it comes to speaking about Red John. Hope springs in her chest, and when he flashes a brief but genuine smile at her, the flutter of her heart is almost automatic.

"I would have made the wrong decision, and then it would have been too late. I know that now. I only wish I had known better then."

"Jane," she whispers, shifting her position until she is sitting right next to him.

She places one hand on his thigh, and he slides his own underneath it, clasping their fingers together and raising her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

"I know you're wondering where I went last week," he adds. "I was in San Francisco. I met with some of the women at the shelter. I wanted to see what you had been a part of there. I understand now why you had to go."

"When they told me about the case, I knew I couldn't turn it down. I could have been one of those women," she admits quietly.

Jane shakes his head, insistent; his hand still holds hers firmly in his grip. "You would never have been one of those women."

She gives him a long look, silently asking if he really thinks so.

He squeezes her hand, understanding her implied question without a moment's hesitation. "Oh, Lisbon. Surely you know yourself well enough to understand this."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Being around those women for so long, sometimes I wonder..."

"Don't wonder," he interrupts. "I know."

"Alright," she exhales softly in reply. She isn't so sure herself, but it's a new and refreshing feeling to have someone believe in her so wholeheartedly and without reservation.

Jane stands up from the couch slowly, taking both of her hands in his and pulling her up until she stands directly in front of him. His eyes are calm and bright, and the hope that shines in them is evident in his voice when he speaks. "So tomorrow you're flying back east for the holidays. Does that mean you have plans tonight?"

She grins at him slyly. "I was thinking I might have dinner."

He smirks. "Is that an invitation?"

"I don't know." She meets his eyes and suddenly both of their expressions turn from playful to serious. "What do you want?"

"I want to stay." He answers without hesitation, clear and concise and confident, without putting on a show. This is the Jane she knows, the man she always knew he was, even when he himself was not so sure.

Lisbon wonders if that's the reason he has so much faith in her as well.

There is still much for them to work through, but his confidence is infectious and she finds herself believing that she may be able to reconcile the ghosts of their respective pasts with what she wants now.

"Then I'm asking you to stay."

She answers Jane, mirroring his confidence in a crisp, determined tone that is all her own.

She drops his grip and starts walking toward her kitchen. The moment his hand finds its familiar place against the small of her back is the exact moment that they fall into step.

xxxxx


End file.
